


Every Single Thing

by thisonegoes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Drama, Famous Harry, Harry is a little lost but he's a good egg, Liam is not so nice, M/M, Press and Tabloids, Recreational Drug Use, Rich Zayn, Sad Harry, contest winner Zayn, elements of Harry/Liam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:44:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 45,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisonegoes/pseuds/thisonegoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So the question remains: Can Harry Styles' career ever really recover? What do you think, readers? Can Styles become a true star again? Would you be willing to see his next project, if he can clean up his act? Or is he just another young star who could've had it all?"</p><p>AU where famous actor Harry Styles tries to get it together, with a little help from a stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Every article/source/person within this story is, of course, fabricated and not to be taken seriously. 
> 
> Thank you to Jasmine for always reading everything over. You are my rock.
> 
> Enjoy :)

**PIC: Harry Styles Stumbles Yet Again**  
_US Weekly Staff - posted February 11, 2017_  
  
Mess alert!  
  
Resident bad boy Harry Styles, 22 was caught (again!) stumbling out of a Hollywood club Friday night.  
  
The "Year Zero" leading man, first known for his early roles on NBC's "Growing" and the canceled-too-quick HBO drama "Innocent," has been more famous in recent years for his escapades than his roles.  
  
Our photog caught Harry and various friends leaving Club Blur to a waiting SUV at around 2 a.m. While everyone seemed to exit unscathed, it was Styles who had the most trouble. A source inside the club says he was "stumbling all over the place" and was eventually cut off from the complimentary bottle service, before falling outside in front of a line of paps.  
  
As you can see, the once bright-eyed star has taken another stumble quite literally towards the gutter, after a year of career lows. He eventually had to be led to the car by security.  
  
What do you think? Is Styles just young and having fun? Or is he on a self-destructive path like so many of his peers before him?  
  
Comment below!

  
  
**Messy Actor Strikes Back**  
_Blind Gossip - March 22, 2017 - 167 comments_  
  
Which almost-knocked-off-the-A-list actor was such a drunken mess over the weekend that he was spotted puking behind his manager's house? This former teen-star-turned-grown-up-leading-man got into a hairy situation Saturday when he and a certain equally messy male companion caused pain when they not only broke up a massive dinner party, but then left in a hurry, after the actor broke a window with a rogue wine bottle. The crying actor's bodyguard had to carry him over his shoulder, back to their car.  
  
Adds our source, "No one on his team knows how to handle him these days, and they're all just waiting for him to burn out entirely so they can ship him off to rehab."  
  
Actor:  
  
Male companion:

  
  
  
**Entertainment Weekly ASKS: Can Harry Styles' career be saved?**  
_by Joey Allen, March 27, 2017_  
  
Five years ago, Harry Styles was a curly haired ingénue, headlining a ragtag cast of misfits on NBC's groundbreaking series "Growing." He played Marshall Jetter, the outsider with a heart of gold, who eventually became the leader his uninspired classmates needed. Styles was everything and more in that first role: sweet, genuine, all smiles. The press loved him, he was closely guarded by his parents in the whirlwind of Hollywood, and it seemed like nothing could go wrong.  
  
After three years on "Growing" and then a darker role in HBO's "Innocent," it seemed like Harry Styles, or at least the public perception of him, started to shift. No longer did he open up in interviews and shine a smile for every passing camera. He moved away from his family to live alone in LA, he became more subdued, cracked jokes at interviewers' expenses, and spoke out against certain higher-ups. (In case you forgot, he called Les Howard of NBC Universal a "coward and a crook" just last year, when the topic of "Growing" came up at a press conference.)  
  
Now years later, after a few box office bombs and television failures, Harry Styles has grown out his hair, changed his style, fought his way out of Hollywood nightclubs, and (according to gossip rags) has about four different relationships (with men and women) happening simultaneously. Styles' name is now much more synonymous with his off-screen antics than anything he's done for work in recent years. In an interview with Vanity Fair in November, Styles said, "I'm trying to live my life, the ups and downs of it, with a billion people watching me. I feel the weight of that pressure every f-cking day." He also compared the last few years of his life as him "trying to find his way."  
  
So the question remains: Can Harry Styles' career ever really recover? The short answer is yes, with an if. No career is ever really over. If Styles can reinvent himself, then he might start filling theaters again. He needs to disappear for a few months, get to the root of why he started acting in the first place, and maybe the general public can begin to take him seriously again. (If you need a reminder of his raw talent, pretend the last two years of his personal life didn't happen and watch his performance in last fall's indie "Year Zero." It's heartbreaking and visceral, everything Styles used to be known for. The spark is still there.)  
  
What do you think, readers? Can Harry Styles become a true star again? Would you be willing to see his next project, if he can clean up his act? Or is he just another young star who could've had it all?

  
  
***

  
It's Liam's grunting that wakes Harry up. Methodical and rough, a quick succession of huffing and puffing. Harry doesn't open his eyes for a few more seconds, willing the sun to let him be, praying his body can drop back into a REM cycle, but it's no use. Liam insists on doing push ups before even brushing his teeth, prefers to work himself up into a sweat before Harry can remember what day it is.  
  
Harry can't help the groan that escapes his lips as he shifts under the duvet, as Liam's breathing changes to the telltale one-arm push ups that come after the regular kind. Next it'll be crunches, then leg lifts, then another set of push ups. Harry finds the whole thing fascinating, Liam's penchant for keeping his body healthy and whole. He saves articles about fish oil on his phone, gets supplements and vitamins for each major organ to function properly. He's a healthy unhealthy person, really. Liam smokes a pack a day and snorts more coke than anyone Harry's ever met. Harry even saw track marks on Liam's ankle once, but didn't have the heart to say anything about it. It's probably best that Liam believes he's a healthy individual, even if it's a lie. It's best that Harry stays out of it because it's none of his business anyways.  
  
Eventually Harry sits up in bed, to see Liam near the open balcony doors overlooking Beverly Hills, in nothing but his black briefs. It's too fucking bright, way too early, and Harry feels too hung over to function.  
  
"Can you stop?" he croaks, running a hand through his greasy hair.  
  
"No," Liam exhales as he turns over to do crunches.  
  
Harry gives him a look that goes unnoticed.  
  
"When did we get back?"  
  
"Late."  
  
"Did you fuck me?"  
  
"Twice, babe," Liam huffs a laugh, still staring at the ceiling, counting in his head.  
  
Harry knew that. It flashes to him then, the ride home in Preston's car, the frantic stumbling up the stairs, Liam pulling his hair as he fucked him from behind. They had been at a party in Brentwood, at Liam's friend's publicist's house. It wasn't wild until Harry showed up, with random girls in tow that he met the weekend before at 1OAK. They didn't even have music playing until Harry insisted, his hat askew, his lips bright red as he asked the host nicely, Shailene Something.  
  
Thankfully Preston got him home unscathed, physically. The hangover won't be pleasant to deal with, but he's in one piece. He's woken up in pool houses and attics before, with his wallet missing or cuts across his palms. "Home" and "coherency in the morning" are two of Harry's favorite things.  
  
But then he remembers who he is, the life he has, and he groans. It's about that time. Harry blindly reaches for his phone, choosing to close his eyes for a few seconds longer, before he does what he does most mornings: searches the trades and gossip sites. Harry prefers to hear it firsthand, instead of getting texts and phone calls from the people who work for him, asking questions and poking fingers.  
  
Twitter seems quiet, the same tweets from the same fans. Nothing on TMZ. No Google alerts with his name attached. No texts from Rachel, the girl he knows at Access Hollywood, who still graciously lets him know if they have something on him. All clear.  
  
Harry exhales and falls backwards, his head hitting the pillow he bought when he moved into his LA house, after everything went down a few years ago. When it all fell apart and he had to furnish his place on his own, without his mom to help. When Harry hardened too quickly.  
  
Liam eventually stops grunting near the balcony, as Harry listens to his bare feet pad across the hardwood floor. Just when he thinks Liam will head into the bathroom to shower, he feels a body crawling up the bed towards him.  
  
"You wanna go again?" Liam sniffs nonchalantly, as he slowly slinks between Harry's legs, nose running up Harry's bare chest.  
  
Liam gets jacked on coke and wants to fuck around, or he's drunk at the clubs he DJs and promotes for and wants to fuck around, or he works his muscles into a frenzy and wants to fuck around. Liam Payne lives in a constant state of wanting to fuck around. Most days, it's Harry who he sets his sights on. They're not together, never have been, and Harry's pretty sure Liam has a girl tucked away somewhere. It doesn't worry Harry in the slightest. Liam's too impulsive to want Harry around forever, too pushy to listen, too harsh, too dumb to know any better. They work like this because they could never really _work_. Shared orgasms are enough. So Harry briefly thinks it could be easy, to have a morning fuck instead of pissing Liam off and starting an argument.  
  
But he's sore already, his head hurts, and he's pretty sure he's supposed to meet Seth eventually.  
  
"Later, yeah," Harry tries to move his head to the side, before Liam can kiss him.  
  
"Babe," Liam whines, grinding down against Harry's half-hard cock, the traitorous bastard it is.  
  
"I'll blow you. Get off me, you smell," Harry sighs, pushing at Liam's chest.  
  
As Harry heads towards the bathroom, he hears the lighter flick in Liam's hand, for his first cigarette of the day. He's still sweaty and flushed from his workout, and is already poisoning himself. There's a mumbled _gee thanks_ thrown towards Harry's bare back, but Harry doesn't really care.  
  
He blows Liam ten minutes later in his massive shower, just like he said he would. Liam doesn’t return the favor, he won't ever swallow, so he lets Harry come across his ass instead.

  
  
***

  
Seth Gould, manager extraordinaire, gifted wordsmith, and all around backbone to Harry's entire career, surveys him over a ridiculously priced bottle of water. Seth always insists on meeting Harry at the outdoor cafe near his house in Santa Monica, the type of pretentious place Harry used to loathe and now eats at every other afternoon, to be seen. It's not lost on him that these days, the only thing keeping his name in anyone's mouth are his whereabouts. It's just about his face now, coming and going through various eateries and bars around the Los Angeles metro. A few paps got shots of him as he walked in five minutes prior, his sunglasses covering blood shoot eyes, hair tied up, shoulders hunched. He made sure to walk a little slower, to help them out.  
  
Seth's one of Harry's oldest confidants, the only person still working for him from the very beginning. He's the only one who knew about the shit storm Harry found himself in two years ago, at the ripe old age of 20. Aside from Preston, he's also the only real friend Harry has and the last person Harry could ever feel judgment from.  
  
But Seth is also sharp as a tack, as he tucks his phone in his jacket, his shaggy black hair blowing in the wind. The coffee on the table has already gone cold from them sitting out on the open patio.  
  
"You weren't online today," Seth licks his lip, his eye tick more pronounced in the harsh sun. "But you could've been."  
  
Harry doesn't even have the decency to be sorry anymore. According to three magazines in the last month, his career is over. By harsh Hollywood standards, Harry Styles is a failure. Some days Harry wallows in that, and other days, he pretends it's fine. He pretends like everything is how it was when he was 16.  
  
"TMZ?"  
  
"Radar Online. Had phone footage of you inside a party last night. I'm pretty sure you could see Liam's hand down your jeans. We bought it in time though, so. It's contained."  
  
Harry leans forward on his elbows and shrugs, so Seth can see it.  
  
"I just… I think you know what I could say right now. What I should say."  
  
"That I'm a fuck up?"  
  
"No, that you're _about_ to be."  
  
Seth's eyes get sad as he grips the black napkin in his left hand, wedding ring glinting in the sunlight. Harry hasn't felt this way in a very long time, not like he feels now, with red cheeks.  
  
"It's not over, Seth," Harry tries. "I could still… I could get something, right? We've just been waiting for the right part? I'll be fine. Fuck the trades, right?"  
  
"H, directors read the trades. Casting directors practically fucking write the trades. I don't want you to end up as a joke, okay? Some kid with talent, nominated for a fucking Golden Globe, who now cokes too hard and fucks DJs on the Sunset strip."  
  
Seth moves closer, his chair scraping harshly on the concrete.  
  
"I'm meeting with Pam this afternoon. And then I'm calling Kelly Kline. We are going to put together a strategy, H. Full plan. We are going to get you back to where you need to be, back to your fucking job. You hear that? We're going to figure out new and interesting ways to make you good again, in the public eye, so we can get you working."  
  
A woman walks past the table with her purse held tightly in her hands, eyes wide, at the sight of Harry. She slows as she heads into the cafe itself and Harry wonders if she had her phone up for a picture. He envisions her texting to her friends, putting it on Twitter from a bathroom stall, laughing at his puffy face.  
  
Those thoughts all rolled together, more than anything else, cause Harry to sigh. To give in. It's probably time.  
  
"Yeah," Harry sighs, ready as he'll ever be. "Just… I don't know, just tell me what I have to do, I guess."  
  
"First things first," Seth grabs his keys, cutting brunch off before it starts, tossing a few bills on the table. "Dump the DJ, he's ridiculous, and you deserve better. And secondly, you never let me go to voicemail, ever again. You see I'm calling? Pick up."  
  
Harry nods, resigned.  
  
"You may hate some of it, of what we map out for you, but I swear to God, H. I will fucking gut you, if you complain."  
  
"I won't."  
  
"Yeah, well. We'll see, won't we. Just trust me. That's all I ask."  
  
Harry stands to hug Seth, their customary goodbye. It's too formal to shake hands, and yet too cold to not touch. Harry realizes he hasn't hugged Seth in awhile. He hasn't had a good hug in awhile, period.  
  
"Be good, kid."  
  
"I'll try."  
  
"And please, for the love of God, stop giving TMZ material. They're making easy money off you, and it's a fucking shame."  
  
Harry chuckles as Seth smacks his cheeks with massive hands. His blue blazer flaps behind him, his cellphone already to his ear, no doubt making the necessary phone calls to stop the derailment of Harry Styles, before it gets worse.  
  
It's a necessary evil, Harry decides, as he sits back down, to fix things this way. Maybe he'll do a few appearances, a Vogue piece where he gets to explicitly dictate how they can portray him, a spread for the Times. Maybe some charity work or a speaking engagement at a gala, to start. Harry just has to trust Seth's plan of attack. And luckily, Seth has never lead Harry astray. He's always truthful about the roles he thinks are too shitty for Harry, beneath him. And he's gracious enough to shut his mouth when Harry takes them anyways, when he has to, to pay his mortgage and stock his liquor cabinet. He's never gotten truly angry with Harry, for fucking up, for puking at his parties, for being a mess. He understands, he gets it. Harry's alone too often and Seth's wife mostly sees him as a sad puppy anyways.  
  
Harry's never been ashamed of himself, for the life he leads and the ways he's chosen to repair the broken bits deep down. He actually tends to agree with half the awful things printed about him. But as he sits there, waiting around for a plan to get him his job back, Harry suddenly wants to be proud, of himself, somehow.  
  
Maybe he finally will be. Eventually.  
  
Harry sighs once more and glances to his left, to see the few paps from earlier, tucked away near the valet. He sips his cold coffee so they can get a few shots of him out and about, before he heads home to sleep the rest of the day off.

  
  
***

  
**From:** Seth Gould,  <sethg@RJred-management.com>  
**To:** H Edward,  <hedward@me.com>  
  
**Subject:** THE PLAN, BABY  
April 12, 2017 - 1:30 PM PST  
  
H, you literally just left the office after our big meeting, which I appreciate you being graciously on time for (and by that, I mean thank you for not being MORE than 20 minutes late).  
  
But to reiterate, in case you zoned out (and lets be honest, your eyes were rather red and you were practically sweating gin) here's what we have so far:  
\- Something stupid with Funny Or Die, something to parody yourself a little. Not too much, not too much heat on you, but you need to be able to take a joke.  
\- I'm calling BuzzFeed tomorrow, to get you something fun/breezy AND in-depth, something where they come to the house maybe, cook together(?) or just an interview, play pool, whatever you want, just be clear and concise and funny. Charm them, etc.  
\- Reddit AMA(?)  
\- Promote a charity/cause.  
\- Kimmel, to promote said charity/cause.  
\- Fan contest(?) for charity/cause, or Twitter tie-in, photo op, radio contest(?), and then a quick sound bite from them, about how great you are.  
  
We're ironing out the details of course. I've CC'd my team here, to get all the balls rolling. The whole point is to get you some scripts. Pilot season is over of course, so network is out for the fall. But we can try for an indie to shoot this summer, maybe your agent/Milania at PMK have a better idea. I'll ask. We'll set up some meetings for you.  
  
Preston's CC'd as well, because once we start getting shit together, he can help you organize/plan/be on time/add it all to your calendar. YES, I will check your iCloud calendar and update it for you myself as always, but still. (Do you need an assistant? Be honest. Should we get you one? I can ask Sheila to get you one?)  
  
Please don't ignore this, just give me a reply so I know you've seen it. Please tell Liam to get out of your house. And please, please stay sober this weekend. It's easier if you are, and you know it.  
  
S  
  
  
  
_**Seth Gould**_  
_**Senior Talent Manager, RJ Red Management**_

  
***

  
**From:** H Edward,  <hedward@me.com>  
**To:** Seth Gould,  <sethg@RJred-management.com>  
  
**Subject:** RE: THE PLAN, BABY  
April 12, 2017 - 6:17 PM PST  
  
Got it.  
  
Can the charity involve animals? I'd like to help animals. I don't want to be shitty and represent something that I don't care about. Can I get a dog?  
  
If we do a contest, whoever the fan is, should like animals too, I think.  
  
Thanks all. I'll be good.  
H

  
  
***

  
It's important to remember that Harry Styles didn't become Harry Styles by accident. It's not something he fell into. He wasn't born under a lucky star. He wasn't approached by some random casting director with a business card in a crowded mall. He didn't have famous parents. Harry Styles became Harry Styles because he fucking worked for it. Hard.  
  
Harry took acting classes for years as a kid, went to every audition, endured every secluded Saturday afternoon in their Northern California sublet, running lines with his mom until his eyes ached. He used to record himself reading poems and sent VHS tapes to random talent agencies in LA, just to try his hand. That all paid off, when he got a few calls. There was a car commercial at 10, a McDonald's commercial at 14, a one-liner in a Robert Rodriguez movie at 15. Harry got in trouble during that job, his first job when the family moved to LA. He told his mom he'd get a cab home and instead wandered the Warner Brothers lot aimlessly for hours, taking it in, wishing he had a dressing room there. Security caught him and thought he had hopped a fence.  
  
But it all worked in Harry's favor because it led him to Seth. After getting those few small commercials, a play in Hollywood, and the Rodriguez movie, Harry's mom was approached by the management company, to rep him before an overpriced agency came calling. Seth's been there ever since, got him his first read for NBC, which led to his show. His amazingly perfect, "ground-breaking" show, that lasted three amazing years.  
  
Seth was the one to call him when he got nominated for the Globe, the person who helped him clean out his dressing room when the show was canceled, the man Harry looks up to, now that he's in LA alone. Seth could ask Harry to toss himself off the Empire State Building and he'd do it, he really would. He'd just ask that Seth get a good price for his house. It's a great house.  
  
Harry hits send on the email to Seth and everyone important, and knows he's telling the truth when he says he'll be good. Because he wants to be good. He's been good, worked hard, leaped every hurdle his whole fucking life. Harry isn't stupid, he's driven as hell, and he can set his mind to things quite easily. He didn't spend the last year fucking around, drinking and partying by accident. It was a choice he made, a stupid one, one he can easily undo now. He believed all the "he's a failure" talk, the shit they wrote about him, the shit he only deserved some of the time. But he's over it. Harry is done being a fuck up.  
  
Well, once he wakes up tomorrow, probably.  
  
"Hey," he nudges Liam with his elbow. It's sunset. They're in his bed, the white fluffy pillows and duvet enveloping them. Once Harry got back from his meeting, he fell right back into bed where Liam slept, dead to the world. They've been napping all afternoon.  
  
"What?" Liam grunts, pissed to be woken up this early. He shifts his face away from Harry, pulls a pillow closer.  
  
"You should go."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I'm asking you to."  
  
Liam shifts up, his bare chest resting against Harry's arm, eyes in a glare. Harry tries not to look, keeps his eyes on his phone. He's just pulled up TMZ, to do a quick search.  
  
"But the club tonight. I thought we'd go from here."  
  
"I don't want to."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Since when do you ask so many questions?" Harry finally looks at him, the scruff along Liam's jaw just on the right side of too long. It's sexy as hell, Harry hates to admit it.  
  
"You don't want to come with?" Liam's voice switches easy as anything, to sultry, that low cadence that roped Harry in the first place, when they whispered to each other at a party months ago. Liam's good at this, at getting what he wants out of people. It's why he's such a good club promoter.  
  
"No."  
  
"But I want you there," Liam frowns, moving closer, lips against Harry's jaw. "Maybe I'll just come back here after, then?"  
  
Harry shakes his head, grips his phone tighter. There, towards the bottom of the page, is a blurry photo of Harry tucked behind the sushi restaurant he was at the day before, waiting for his car from the valet. A "source" inside says Harry was doing saki bombs alone and "texting his various hook ups" during his lunch.  
  
They're all still laughing at him.  
  
"We can do that thing," Liam whispers into Harry's ear, wet and dirty. "How about we do that thing, when I'm done with work, hmm?"  
  
Harry tosses his phone to the bedside table and swiftly gets on top of Liam, shoving his hands against the mattress. It's ridiculous, they barely like each other most days, and yet still end up in bed like this. Harry's too busy with a mouthful of nipple, to remember Seth's email, to tell Liam to go, to get it over with. To be good. To value himself more than this.  
  
There's always tomorrow.

  
  
***

  
**REPORT: Harry Styles Spurned by Alexa Ray Joel**  
_By Daily Mail Reporter_  
_00:29:21 - 2 May 2017_  
  
Harry Styles was left red-faced yesterday after a brief encounter with Billy Joel's daughter, outside a bar in Los Angeles' Silverlake neighbourhood.  
  
The 22-year-old actor turned up at Alexa's sold out acoustic show at The Satellite, with an entourage in tow. Sources say Styles and friends got quite rowdy and spent most of the night dancing in a VIP booth. It's also been reported that Styles got in a row with up-and-coming DJ Liam Payne towards the end of the set, who got angry and upturned a table.  
  
After the group exited the bar, fans swarmed the door. Styles flashed a smile and attempted to sign various autographs, before realizing the fans wanted Alexa, standing behind him. He tried to laugh it off with her and photographers caught him giving her a massive hug, only to be politely rebuffed. Alex carried on to sign for fans, when Styles quickly made his way to a waiting car.  
  
On Sunday night, Payne was caught entering Styles' Beverly Hills house, before leaving only an hour later with a bite on his neck. He said to paparazzi: 'This is private property, please leave.' But the smile and smirk were evident.

  
  
***

  
**7 Totally Random Questions with Harry Styles**  
_Posted May 12, 2017_  
_Tim Mason, BuzzFeed Staff_  
  
I recently interviewed none other than Harry Styles himself in his Los Angeles home, to have a sit-down chat about the "Year Zero" star's life, career, and what's next. But he and I both agreed: that sort of banal write-up would be boring as hell, so instead we sat in his kitchen, ate edamame for an hour, and asked each other random questions.  
  
It should be noted that Styles is actually really quick witted and super self-aware, something he's not given enough credit for. His kitchen is clean, he's polite, and he promised we'd be lifelong friends.  
  
And wouldn't you know it, I sort of believe him.  
  
Here are my top seven favorite questions:  
  
**1\. What is your dream job? Assuming you don't already have it, of course.**  
I used to get asked this all the time. I think because when I started out, I was so young. Like if there was anything else I'd rather be doing besides acting, as if I got into this whole thing as a baby, at someone else's doing. But I swear, I'm doing my dream job. I've always wanted to act. I've been pretending to be someone else ever since I could talk. So if you could make a few calls and tell people that I'm still here, and still want to work, that'd be doing me a real solid.  
  
**2\. What's a common fear that doesn’t phase you at all?**  
This is an amazing question. Why, what's yours? [I tell Styles that many people are afraid of snakes, understandably so, but I love them. I had a few growing up.] That's insane, because I'm with you. I actually really like spiders. I don't waltz around to capture them around my house and I don't keep them as pets or anything. But I did a Funny Or Die video just last week, with a bunch of animals, and they had this tank of tarantulas. I went nuts. I couldn't wait to hold them. I think spiders are cool.  
  
**3\. Favorite pizza topping?**  
I'm a big garlic lover. So give me olive oil, garlic, and extra cheese, and I'll probably love you.  
  
**4\. Biggest regret?**  
Uh… that's hard to answer. I used to think the "no regrets" lifestyle was for me, and then I lived in a bubble the last two years. Everyone's seen the shit I regret, right? But I guess if I had to say one… I regret not trusting my gut. When it came to my family. That's all I'll really say.  
  
**5\. Biggest misconception about you?**  
That I'm terrible. It all comes to that, you know? Like at the end of the day, everything that's written about me, paints me to be a terrible person. I've had my share of problems and tough days, like everyone. But not everyone has hoards of people writing about it and openly, uproariously, laughing in their face. I think people forget that I’m a person, with a laptop and a phone, who can very easily read the stuff they write. It’s not fun to read shit about yourself, when you’re just trying to get out of bed. What they say about me isn't even true. It's not even _half_ true. I'm not a bad person. I don't hurt people. I don't cause trouble. I'm just trying to be better, in the end.  
  
**6\. Who's your best friend? And why?**  
You met him, actually. When you came in. Preston's a solid dude. He's literally solid as a rock, as a bodyguard, but he's also very kind. If someone is kind, they're my best friend.  
  
**7\. What's the one thing you want to accomplish before the end of this year?**  
I really want to find someone. Just a someone. Someone who makes me feel good, who I can make feel good. A partner. Oh, and I really want a job. A job would be nice. Are you hiring?  
  
I end the interview by telling Styles that BuzzFeed is unfortunately not hiring at the moment. But I promise him that he's welcome at our LA and New York offices at any time. We exchange numbers with a promise to meet up for lunch sometime, and not even twenty minutes later, I check my phone to see a message. We're grabbing pizza next week.  
  
Harry Styles is a very cool guy.  
  
[Harry has been working with the California Wildlife Center in Calabasas, to rescue and rehabilitate native wildlife in Southern California. For more information, click  here. You can also enter donate money and enter a contest to meet Styles, by clicking here.]

  
  
***

  
Harry's not stupid. He's a very intelligent person, in fact. He went to regular high school before their family moved to LA, and once he got the show and got a good tutor, he even "graduated" on set. The crew made him a cake and everything. So he's not an idiot and he knows how the world works. He's been living in it by himself the last few years, in his big house with only Preston to keep him company some days. He knows he's been a fuck up, knows Liam is only temporary, and knows the plan is still in the beginning stages. The plan will work, maybe a little too slow for Harry's liking, but Seth said so. He'll get back on track soon enough. If he works hard enough, day in and day out like he has been, with interviews and sit-downs, press releases and charity functions, it'll work out. Smart, driven people deserve to be heard, to work and be happy. It has to work.  
  
All the same, Harry throws his iPad across the kitchen when he sees another article about him talking to himself in a diner on Wilshire. He's already exhausted from the meetings he had all day, and now this.  
  
"Hey," Preston shouts, practically skidding into the kitchen. "What's going on? What is it?"  
  
"You were with me!" Harry slams his palms on the granite counter top. "When we ate at Mel's on Monday. You were fucking _with me_ at the table, I wasn't talking to myself, I'm not on drugs or crazy!"  
  
Preston does what he does best and grabs for Harry before he can run. He holds Harry tightly against his chest, something his dad used to do when he got upset, which Preston knows.  
  
He makes Harry a cup of tea and sits with him in the living room, curtains closed tight, to watch hours of "Law  & Order" reruns in the dark, as the plan feels less and less tangible.

  
  
***

  
**From:** Seth Gould,  <sethg@RJred-management.com>  
**To:** H Edward,  <hedward@me.com>  
  
**Subject:** be ready tomorrow  
May 30, 2017 - 10:11 AM PST  
  
You didn't answer my texts. It's all set for tomorrow. We thought about having the top bidder come to our offices and you have a meeting here. But, and don't hate me, I think you should go to a restaurant. Something in West Hollywood. I'll text you where we get the reservation.  
  
Preston will take you and wait outside. You just have to do dinner, thank them for donating to CWC, and be charming. The contest itself had a HUGE turnout, H. Like there were people all over the country who wanted to meet you. It was all over Twitter, girls young and old want you, still. Boys too! It looks great for you, got some good press. All positive so far.  
  
So do this and I'll get you some meetings for Friday, hopefully. Maura at CW is gearing to cast two different shows! GOOD NEWS FOR US!  
  
It's a guy who actually donated the most, not for his kid or anything, just him (I know, right?) and he actually lives in Long Beach, which is convenient. His name is Zayn, 24, says he donated because it was a good cause. I get the feeling he thinks you're hot, so that's always a plus.  
  
Answer my texts.  
  
S

  
_**Seth Gould** _  
_**Senior Talent Manager, RJ Red Management** _

  
  
***

  
Some days feel like a wash right from the get-go, don't they. It's like waking up and seeing the sun shining, but knowing deep down it's all a waste, that something will inevitably make it shitty. It's a feeling Harry has quite often now, mornings when he opens the patio doors to his bedroom to step out into the breeze, only to realize that somewhere down the line, it's going to hurt. Sometimes he makes the decision to stay in bed, to curl up in his big house with only pictures of his club rat "friends" on the walls, and that's that. Other days he tries to quiet it all, so he'll call Liam and go to whatever club he's working and get shit faced, Preston's large hand on his back to keep him upright. Tough days always seem especially tough, for Harry Styles.  
  
It's one of those days.  
  
Harry wakes up with Liam's dick nudging him in the back, Liam's hand across his stomach holding him close. If they were other people, it'd probably look sweet, the picture of marital bliss or something. But Harry tries to move away because that's not them at all. He pushes Liam back, which only causes Liam to pull him closer, the scruff on his chin digging into Harry's shoulder blade.  
  
Harry rolls his eyes and gives up, blows the long hair out of his eyes, and shifts. He'll let Liam have it a few more minutes. He reaches for his phone to check emails and Twitter, his morning routine. Seth said they'd have more meetings and lunches set up soon. He may even have a few script pages in his email waiting for him to dig into and memorize. Harry's fingers twitch at that, excited at the thought of pretending to be someone else, to use his brain again.  
  
But the first thing he sees is a string of tweets from various news outlets. They have pictures of him leaving Hyde the night before, hand in hand with Liam, who couldn't walk straight. Liam had had too much after his set, when some new DJ took over and Liam made his way to Harry's booth. Preston's back there somewhere, moving people out of the way, for them to get to the SUV.  
  
Of course the stories all say Harry was worse off, that he was the real mess, the one shouting and making a scene in the VIP section. It's not true. Harry drank Red Bull all night, tried to keep it together. But "sources" inside say he got drunk, stuck his tongue down Liam's throat, and made a cocktail server "uncomfortable." Then the "two lovers" made their way to a waiting SUV. Apparently the windows were fogged up before it could even drive away. All bullshit.  
  
Harry tries to control his temper, to remember what Seth's been saying. It's not true, so Harry can keep that, the truth. It's his. He knows the truth and that's okay, for now. He also belatedly remembers Seth's words about not going out at all, to stay away from the clubs because it just creates this stupid mess in the first place. Seth was right, as always, and Harry thinks about then that he's done with it all. Officially.  
  
Liam's phone vibrates next to the alarm clock, almost dead. Harry rarely cares about Liam's work or hook ups, so he almost ignores it. But then his mind slowly comes back to him, that intelligence he sometimes forgets to give himself credit for, and it tells him to look. So he reaches for it, afraid of what he'll find, to see two texts from the night before.  
  
_**JR 30 MILE 1:26 am:** coming out front door or back?_  
  
_**JR 30 MILE 3:04 am:** thanx man, text me when ur plans tmw are go_  
  
Harry feels gross all of a sudden, like he hasn't showered in days, like he's just fallen into a muddy lake, twigs and leaves in his hair, water in his lungs. It’s like he's just trudged through miles of sand, like he's sunburnt or crawling with bugs. It's like every nerve ending is wrong, off, on fire. He let Liam fuck him only hours before, can still feel lube between his thighs, and it's like he's going to be sick.  
  
He shoves Liam away harshly, too quickly for the early hour, and hears a low groan. He's up and at the door to his bedroom in two seconds, in the hall in two seconds more, and screaming for Preston before even taking a breath.  
  
Liam sits up, bewildered like he was after that earthquake last month when he almost cried, and brings a hand to his head.  
  
"What the hell?" he speaks, voice practically gone.  
  
"Get out of my house."  
  
Harry can't look at Liam as he pulls on fresh briefs. He strolls to the balcony doors and throws them open as wide as they'll go, handles clattering against the plaster on either side of the frame. He may have just put holes in his walls, damn it. Maybe he can bill Liam for it later.  
  
"Wait, why?" Liam gets up, putting on his own briefs.  
  
"Someone named JR, from Thirty Mile Zone, T-M-fucking-Z? He sends his love. I saw your phone." Harry turns to him, hands on his hips. "So get the fuck out."  
  
Liam's jaw drops.  
  
"That - "  
  
"Fuck you," Harry spits, viscous. "Get out."  
  
Liam's lip curls, only slightly, like he's about to spit back. Harry knows Liam's temper. He's seen it first hand more times than he can count, Liam's bloody knuckles and red face from getting in fights, slurs and insults hurled from his mouth like nothing. This could turn into a fight, knockdown drag-out style. Harry readies his body, as he hears Preston's heavy feet stomping up the stairs.  
  
Quickly, Liam changes his tactic. His face switches fast as anything, to big pleading eyes and quivering lips. They're not together, they don't actually care, they both know it. But they've spent nights together for months, wrapped up, partners beneath thousands of flashbulbs, pretending to be okay. Harry thought Liam at least understood the shitty aspects of this city, this lifestyle.  
  
But now Harry knows for certain, that some of those shitty aspects were directly caused by Liam himself.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't - " Liam steps forward, itching his nose, itching for something.  
  
Preston almost falls into the room, in a rush, and surveys the scene: two young boys, one like a son, in their underwear, one fuming and one ready to beg. He's seen this before.  
  
"Make him leave," Harry points to Liam. "He's a fucking rat. He's never allowed here again, I'm serious."  
  
"Alright, bud," Preston grabs Liam's arm. "Time to go. Get your stuff."  
  
"Are you fucking serious? Really, Harry?" Liam switches back to anger. "Fuck this. Fuck you too."  
  
Harry helps him out by grabbing for the chair-full of Liam's clothes near his closet. He tosses them right over the balcony, to the driveway below, Liam's screams of anger echoing behind him. Liam stomps around the room to get dressed, having a fit over the "bullshit situation." Harry grabs a few stray shoes and tosses those over the balcony as well. If TMZ is outside now just beyond his driveway's gate, he wonders if they're getting it all.  
  
Harry's breathing is too erratic and he's just about to go search for his inhaler in the bathroom, when Liam turns the hat on his head backwards. He wants Harry to see his eyes, to remember his face like this. Preston tries to grab his arm to force him out, but Liam shakes him off.  
  
"You're a joke and you know it," Liam spits. "Have fun sitting around in this big house all alone. You know as well as I do, they would've found you, would've been laughing their asses off, with or without my help."  
  
Harry throws one of the candles on his side table towards the door and hits Liam in the back with it as Preston leads him down the hall, his vindictive laughter ringing in Harry's ears.

  
  
***

  
Not even an hour later, the photos of a pissed off Liam in Harry's driveway collecting his clothes and shoes, are all over the internet.

  
  
***

  
Harry never has been one to feel too sorry for himself, well aware that most of his recent problems stem from the fact that he's an idiot. He invited someone like Liam into his house and his life, he's the one drinking all hours of the night, sleeping through the day to avoid the zero missed calls asking him to work again. He doesn't get ashamed of his actions because they're all his fault, his doing. He doesn't even really wallow in it, how he's totally alone, no friends, no family, a laughing stock. He has those days where he won't leave the house, of course, but Preston's usually there to make him omelets. Sometimes he has dinner with Seth and his wife, which makes him feel good.  
  
But today, Harry fully plans on letting himself feel it all. Today Harry plans on giving a big _fuck you_ to Los Angeles, the people who live here, the assholes who tell lies about him for profit. Because today, there was another article, this time from the Hollywood Reporter, about him not having any prospects. It even quoted an insider from a "major studio," who anonymously said Harry Styles will never be taken seriously again, which is "such a shame" after the fine work he did just last fall in "Year Zero." It's quite clear, now more than ever, that Seth's plan has done him zero favors.  
  
Harry Styles is now, and will forever be, a joke.  
  
Preston hits the button on Harry's passenger side window in the SUV, to let some air in and get it breezing through Harry's hair. It's also something Harry told Preston, years ago, that wind calms him down.  
  
"You don't have to stay long," Preston tries, shrugging.  
  
"That's good," Harry nods, willing himself not to be short or take his feelings out on Preston. He doesn't deserve a brat like Harry, as a friend or a colleague.  
  
After the Liam blow up and the phone call from Seth and the reps in his office, about Harry's behavior and general disposition in the press, Harry feels even worse. Seth said there was supposed to be a conference call, some director who wanted to speak with Harry about an upcoming movie. But after the photos and stories all over the entertainment sites, the director canceled it.  
  
The very last thing Harry wants to do, tonight of all nights, is continue with the bullshit "necessary steps" to be taken seriously again. It seems Harry's fucked himself over one too many times now. Seth almost lost his temper, almost yelled at Harry like he's been wanting to for years. But Harry hung up before he could.  
  
Harry exhales, tries to level himself, to feel the wind on his face.  
  
"Seth said he seems nice?"  
  
"Seth says a lot of shit, doesn't he."  
  
Preston keeps quiet, turns on the radio to Harry's favorite station, and drives on. Traffic isn't too terrible after rush hour, as they get closer to the West Hollywood restaurant Seth set up. Harry tried, sort of. He attempted to look nice, wore his good jeans and black sweater, his hair long and out of his face. He even put on that moisturizer shit a makeup artist gave him once, that's supposed to make his eyes pop and skin glow. He looks good, like Harry Styles used to look, when he had more money and a positive outlook.  
  
There are paps outside Dan Tana's, naturally. Either Seth called them or someone more famous and better looking is inside eating already. Harry doesn't care either way. He just wants to get this over with. This person, Zayn from Long Beach, paid a significant amount of money to the charity Harry reps now. So Harry will give as much time as he deems necessary, to politely say thank you, to ask a few questions, get pissed drunk, and go home to sleep. After Harry hung up on him, Seth sent a curt text saying he'd try to set up meetings for tomorrow, but Harry isn't exactly optimistic at the moment.  
  
But honestly, the main thing on Harry's mind as he steps out of the SUV to flashbulbs in his face, is why a grown man paid a ridiculous amount of money to meet another grown man, charity or not. It's rather pathetic.  
  
Preston tries to shield Harry as best he can, as Harry rushes into the restaurant with his head low. A man greets him nervously, Preston gripping his shoulder once before leaving him be. The stranger leads Harry towards the back near the kitchen. The lights and surroundings are more understated, in this old school type of Italian place, something not overly auspicious or fancy. Seth knows Harry, probably guessed he'd be comfortable in a place like this, and Harry scowls as he winds his way through the tables. He wants to be angry at Seth, damn it.  
  
As the host steps to the side, ushering Harry towards a small circular booth with an extended arm, Harry stops in his tracks. Right as his eyes land on the man already in the booth, the man looks up at him through long eyelashes. Harry can't look away from those eyelashes, the way they fan out, the curl of them, the brown irises they serve and protect.  
  
The man smiles, a brilliant white-toothed smile that spreads across his face, as he stands up to shake Harry's hand. He's wearing black jeans, a black button-up, and suspenders, of all things. Harry's good-looking, he knows it, the world knows it. But he looks like a caricature compared to this man with the gorgeous long hair, the one who should be on the cover of Vogue, in Lanvin, women hanging off his arms, adoring fans scooping up copies left and right.  
  
Harry almost feels the harsh outer shell he uses to protect himself crack, from that smile. He could fall hard, be completely enamored by that smile. But he won't. He can't. Harry has to dislike this person, the one who paid money to meet him. He cannot respect anyone who writes a check to meet asshole and idiot Harry Styles. Harry already knows this rich and accomplished _young_ man is above him, in almost every way, and after the day he's had, he hates it.  
  
"Harry Styles," the man smiles harder, fingers gripping Harry's.  
  
"You're…"  
  
"Zayn. Zayn Malik," he nods, dropping Harry's hand, gesturing towards the booth.  
  
Harry removes his jacket and tosses it in first, sliding onto the leather seat. Harry thought he'd be sitting with some lame man in a cheap suit, excited to meet a hot actor in the heart of the city, or maybe some animal nut job with a handful of informational pamphlets, a business card slipped between them first thing. He figured if the donor were an asshole, it'd be easy. He didn't expect for someone this attractive and confident, someone so _not_ in need of Harry or Harry's attention.  
  
Harry remembers all over again that he hates this whole fucking thing, the whole fucking plan, everything that Seth said would work and hasn't. This is just another night to get through, another notch on a to-do list.  
  
But Zayn looks at him expectantly, with big eyes, waiting for Harry to say something.  
  
"Um," Harry coughs into his fist. "Thank you, for your generous donation."  
  
"Of course," Zayn nods, a smile dancing on his face. "My friend told me about the contest, said you were offering this sort of thing, for the highest donation. I almost didn't do it, almost just sent a check straight to the charity fund, but… I don't know, figured it'd be cool to meet you."  
  
Zayn brings his water glass to his full lips and takes a sip, completely unembarrassed at the admission. Harry coughs again, as a waiter comes over to get their drink orders, a gin and tonic for Harry, red wine for Zayn. Zayn is nice, Harry realizes. Genuinely nice and polite, with zero shame when it comes to what he wants. He looks like the type to actually get it, as well.  
  
Harry hates him.  
  
"I like it here. Very Hollywood," Zayn continues, looking around the restaurant. "Lots of photographers, though. Is this place your favorite?"  
  
Harry eyes him, confused.  
  
"Oh, uh… your manager. Seth? He said in his email that you picked this place… Said you… liked it," Zayn finally stumbles slightly, his words getting softer and softer the longer Harry stares at him.  
  
"Seth lied. I've never been here."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Harry sips his own water then, seething at the politeness of this stranger. It'd be so much easier if Zayn were a dick. Harry's a nice person, very accommodating and charming, everyone's always said so. He practically forces people to feel comfortable around him, as if he has some orbit around his body that draws people in, to let their anxieties go. So he could flip the switch and be that version, and yet. He's too angry.  
  
Maybe he's still too pissed at Seth, maybe he's sick of people lying about him and for him, even about stupid shit like a place being his favorite restaurant. Maybe he's just a jerk now, a terrible person who attracts people like Liam, who he can hardly believe he threw a candle at only hours before. He tries to focus, to at least try to be cordial. This man really did just want to meet him for a quick dinner, after making an absurd donation. If Harry didn't loathe himself so much, and anyone who's ever wanted to be in his world, he might find that endearing instead of ridiculous. Which reminds Harry.  
  
"What do you do?"  
  
"Oh, I'm a web designer."  
  
"Sounds important," Harry quirks an eyebrow.  
  
"Not important," Zayn smiles. "But good, I guess. I design apps, so."  
  
Harry holds up a finger with a vicious smile and grabs for his phone. He pulls up Google and types ZAYN MALIK, just to see. There's a smattering of press, an article about an up-and-coming developer who sold two major social media apps to big companies. An article about the company that snatched him up, this smart brain child with social consciousness and a great head on his shoulders.  
  
So now he's not just hot and polite, he's smart and artistic. Lovely.  
  
"Well look at you! That's how you made all your big money? For all this?"  
  
Harry sweeps his arm out around the half-full restaurant, and towards himself, the hot young thing he is. Harry knew it was rude and in bad taste to not only Google Zayn, but bring up his money like he did, but Harry doesn't really care. He catches at least four sets of eyes on him, on his "date" and he wants to spew curse words at all of them for being so brazen. So Harry gives death stares to each and every table, until they all blink furiously, and turn away, caught.  
  
When he glances back to Zayn, he sees a drawn forehead and eyes in slits.  Zayn sits dumbfounded for a beat.  
  
"I guess," Zayn leans back, eyeing Harry.  
  
"Well cheers to you then," Harry lifts the gin and tonic left by the waiter. "You spent a shit load of money to meet an out-of-work actor with zero prospects and a restaurant full of people judging him from lies on the internet. Am I everything you hoped for?"  
  
Zayn doesn't pick up his wine, and instead pushes it towards the middle of the table. Harry's drink is gone in three big gulps, so he gestures to the waiter to bring a second, and fast. Zayn doesn't respond to the question and instead grabs his menu. Harry chews the ice from his glass and tries to focus on the menu in front of him, not at all hungry.  
  
When the waiter comes back with his second drink and a pen in hand, Harry points to the first thing he sees. Zayn mumbles about having some sort of penne dish.  
  
Harry gulps at his drink and is halfway through it in no time at all.  
  
"So," Zayn tries, bringing his hands to the table, to keep himself cool and collected. "It's really great you're working with the Wildlife Center."  
  
Harry nods.  
  
"They were happy when you did that bit on Kimmel. It was really funny," Zayn nods in return, still trying.  
  
Harry finishes his drink and looks for the waiter, to get another.  
  
"You're funny. Or at least you used to be," Zayn says with an annoyed shrug, turning towards the restaurant at large.  
  
"You think so?" Harry asks, skeptical.  
  
"I mean… Yeah. I've thought you were funny ever since 'Growing.' Like when you did press for the show, when it was still on. You were always funny in those interviews."  
  
Harry lets himself remember his early days, when he could walk onto "The Tonight Show" set and bring the house down with his wry humor. He had an odd wit to him, all dimples and awkward feet. But he was also grounded and interesting, loved and revered. He did an interview with his mom once, for some magazine right around Mother's Day, and the interviewer commented on how well he must've grown up, to be as sweet and cheeky as he is. His mom kissed his cheek so hard, he had to wipe at the lipstick mark for an hour. The thought makes Harry's stomach drop.  
  
Suddenly Harry's angry flares, hot like a lick of fire. He doesn't want to think about the start of his career, when everything was perfect, and he especially doesn't want to continue doing this with someone who only sees him as seventeen, apparently. Some stupid kid, funny on talk shows, like that's significant.  
  
"Yeah, well. Had people writing that shit for me, right?" Harry chuckles, savoring the lie a journalist recently wrote about him anyways. "Haven't you heard? I'm not actually a person, but a mirage. I'm a Hollywood Frankenstein: pieced together by agents and managers, as a kid, and now as a young man. Give me a script and I'll read whatever's on it, no problem!"  
  
Another drink gets set on the table and Harry grabs for it, liquid sloshing up over the side, cool against his skin. He cranes his neck and wonders if Preston is near the door or actually in the car.  
  
"Do you have somewhere to be?"  
  
It's Zayn's tone that brings Harry back into the moment, their eyes meeting. Zayn stares Harry down like he's been caught stealing, like a boss looking at someone they're about to fire, an adult and a child at a crossroads.  
  
Harry's definitely tipsy, he can feel it, the heat on the back of his neck, as Zayn sneers at him.  
  
"I had heard you were a stuck up prick. But I told myself that shit online was probably untrue, it had to be, that the kid I grew up watching on TV and in movies couldn't ever be that bad," Zayn leans in close, forcing Harry to listen.  
  
Harry can hardly react, before Zayn barrels on.  
  
"But look at you. You really are a fucking asshole, aren't you. You act like you're some old withered man, 'seen some shit,' been around the block, tough and hard. You wanna cry about how unfair it all is? Everyone's so mean to little Harry, right?"  
  
Harry feels like he's been smacked across the face.  
  
"You know what I see? When I look at you?" Zayn breathes out, the force of it blowing Harry's hair. "A child. A sad little child, pissy about being treated like a child."  
  
"You don't know me at all," Harry tries to rein the situation back, to grasp at the moment before Zayn yanks it away again.  
  
"You're not as misunderstood as you seem to think. You're actually the most transparent human being I've ever had the displeasure of meeting."  
  
Harry feels that smack again, his cheeks hot.  
  
"Boo-fucking-hoo, Harry. Don't like how you're treated? Demand better. Sad over not having a job? Fucking work for it. Your show was canceled, you were in shitty movies, and now what? Angry at the world? Grow the fuck up."  
  
"You - "  
  
But Zayn holds up a harsh hand, silencing Harry before he can even begin.  
  
"You think you're the only person with problems? The world's an unfair place. Most of us learned to deal with it and pull ourselves up. Not where you thought you'd be at 22? Welcome to the real world, Harry. Have a nice life."  
  
And with that, Zayn Malik grabs his jacket and stands up. He reaches in his wallet, makes Harry watch him, and grabs a few hundred-dollar bills, tossing them to the table.  
  
Harry stares at the crumpled cloth napkin in his lap and realizes it: finally after all this time, he is utterly and completely ashamed.

  
  
***

  
Uh @celebsoutnow just saw @Harry_Styles on a date at Dan Tana's in WeHo! He was with a HOT DUDE, ended fast tho!  
_\- ssimmons (@soulfermusic) 7:42 pm - May 31, 2017_  
  
OMG my dad's at the same restaurant as @Harry_Styles and he's making out with some really hot guy...  
_\- Catey McCall (@catey18mcc) 7:57 pm - May 31, 2017_  
  
Harry STyles just got wasted and a drink thrown in his face lol, my sister works at the restaurant he was just in. Fucking tool.  
_\- shawn mendez (@mendezshh) 8:18 pm - May 31, 2017_

  
  
***

  
Most "child stars" end up being assholes. Harry always told himself that would never be him, starting with the fact that he was 16 when he started his show, hardly a child and more of a young adult. He had to learn quickly and sometimes felt pretty infantile compared to his costars, who played high schoolers and were all actually in their mid-twenties. Harry was the baby of the cast, the one everyone looked out for, the kid they all loved.  
  
Even if Harry wanted to be a spoiled brat, a kid who had the world sitting carefully in his palms, the cast and crew around him never would've let that happen. They refused to let Harry be hardened or stuck up.  
  
But as Harry slowly grabs his jacket and wobbles to his feet in that restaurant, he feels it. Bratty, petulant, spoiled. Harry Styles ended up exactly as they always feared. He got called out on his attitude, finally, and all it took was a stranger, a beautiful stranger who loved animals and spent a small fortune to help them, to see him for what he is. It took an outsider, someone who actively tried not to judge him, to hold up a mirror right to Harry's face.  
  
Harry feels like crying, suddenly, as he looks up and sees them. All of them. The people in that restaurant staring at him, some with phones already in their hands, watching. Zayn spoke too fiercely, in a low whisper, for any of them to know what actually went down. But it's clear it wasn't good. They're waiting to see what he'll do, after being left behind by someone who looks like Zayn.  
  
Suddenly Preston's there, his strong hand pulling at Harry's arm. He leads him out of the restaurant, where mercifully, the photographers have all been moved to the other side of the street. The way to the SUV is clear, a straight line to Harry's oasis that will take him home. He feels overwhelmed and exhausted, wrung out. He's just about to thank Preston, his hand on the door handle, when he looks to his left.  
  
Zayn's there, on the busy street corner, his phone to his ear. Pacing. He keeps craning his neck, looking into traffic, like he's waiting for someone.  
  
Preston tries to nudge Harry again, to move him into the car, but Harry feels a strange pull. He heads towards Zayn, still unsteady on his feet, red and sweaty like the drunk he is.  
  
"Mother fucker," Zayn mutters under his breath, shoving his phone in his pocket, still turned away from Harry.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Zayn whips his head around, angry to see Harry again.  
  
"Did you need something?"  
  
"Do you… Are you waiting for a car?"  
  
Zayn cracks his knuckles and tries to back away a few extra steps.  
  
"I didn't think I'd need it this soon. I thought… I didn't think I'd need my town car until much later, so. I'm waiting for a cab."  
  
Preston whistles, the loud one, the warning shot he uses to get Harry's attention. It's then that Harry sees the flashes from across the street, quick snaps one after the other, and he knows he needs to leave. This doesn't look good. So he steps closer, tries to keep his voice quiet.  
  
"Can I give you a ride?"  
  
"No, thank you."  
  
"It's sort of the least I could do, right? After… after the shit show I just put you through?"  
  
Harry's face softens, he bites his lip. He's trying, he's really trying. Zayn must see it, his eyes finally flickering to Harry's face instead of the oncoming traffic speeding past them on that corner. He even blinks over towards Preston, contemplating.  
  
"I'll shut up, if it helps," Harry shrugs.  
  
That's what does it, as another few flashes snap in their direction. Harry sees Zayn wince slightly. Zayn follows Harry to the SUV and hops in before the red light allows the photographers to cross the street.

  
  
***

  
Preston makes sure the windows are all up now, in case any cars tried to follow them to get more pictures. Harry vaguely wishes he could stick his head out the window like he used to as a child, when he pretended to be a puppy on road trips. His dad always thought it was hilarious. The wind, the cool breeze of it makes him feel better, it always has. So instead he turns up the air conditioning, trying to keep himself from glancing to the backseat, to Zayn.  
  
After Zayn rattled off his address in Long Beach to Preston, he keeps his hands in his lap, doesn't reach for his phone as a nervous tick, not like Harry. Harry fiddles with his, tosses it from hand to hand, wonders if he really is supposed to stay quiet the whole way.  
  
"Thank you," Zayn finally offers, to Preston. "For the ride. I know it's pretty far."  
  
Preston glances to Harry.  
  
"Uh, it's no problem," Harry supplies for the both of them. "Like I said, least I could do."  
  
"You're not the one driving," Zayn scoffs, looking towards the window.  
  
Harry's cheeks flare up again, as Preston smiles, making a left turn onto the freeway.  
  
"I do as needed, when it comes to Harry and his friends," Preston looks to Zayn in the rearview mirror, eyes set. "So you can thank us both just fine."  
  
Zayn shrugs.  
  
"Are you hungry?" Preston mumbles to Harry, concerned. "Dinner?"  
  
"I'll be okay."  
  
"You had drinks. You should eat."  
  
"Are you hungry? What do you want? Let's get what you want," Harry says, patting at Preston's arm.  
  
Preston laughs and shrugs Harry's hand away. Harry happens to glance to the backseat, to see Zayn staring right at him, assessing, calculating.  
  
"Is he really your best friend?" Zayn cocks his head to the side.  
  
Harry's not sure what to do with the question, until he vaguely remembers that interview a few weeks back. With his new maybe-friend Tim from BuzzFeed, in his kitchen, when he said Preston was his best friend. It wasn't until Harry read it back after it was published, that he realized how sad and pathetic it made him look. Poor rich kid with no friends except for the middle-aged man on his payroll.  
  
Still, it's absolutely true, so Harry shrugs, facing forward again.  
  
"He is. Best buds for life. Even have those BFF heart necklaces, one half for each of us. Right, P?" Harry leans his cheek against the cool glass.  
  
Preston ruffles Harry's hair and keeps quiet. Harry secretly loves it, when Preston acts especially like a big brother or father, so he does the motion they made up when Harry was still in high school: he sticks his fist out as if for a fist bump, and Preston envelops his entire pathetic hand in his bear claw. Harry smiles into the window.  
  
"Well," Zayn says. "Guess not everything that comes out of your mouth is bullshit, huh."  
  
Preston chuckles.  
  
"Eh, most of it," Harry sighs into the silence, still exhausted, coming down from the drinks. He remembers the restaurant, the awful things he said, the person he is. He deserves Zayn's discerning eye, the thinly veiled dislike.  
  
Harry knows he deserves everything that comes his way. He exhales, right as his phone vibrates in his hand.

  
  
***

  
_**Seth G 7:45 pm:** So it didn't go well, I see. Come on, Harry. You're fucking killing me._  
  
_**Seth G 7:46 pm:** People tweeted. Paps outside._  
  
_**Seth G 8:01 pm:** Holy shit, call me when you get home. I'm just as surprised as anyone at the moment. Just got a HUGE call, H. From Soderbergh's people. Apparently he has a new film shooting in July, with a part they think might fit you. Very different, not what we're used to hearing for you. I'll get details. They haven't even auditioned anyone for it. He has you in mind, H. CALL ME TONIGHT._

  
  
***

  
Preston tells Harry he'll wait in the car, when they park at an In-N-Out not far from Zayn's house in Long Beach. Harry tried to goad Preston into coming in with them, to be his buffer, but Preston just shoved him away with a smile. He'll keep a watchful eye from outside like always, and forces Harry to be a big boy about it. Harry scowls for only a few seconds, before he remembers Zayn called him a child earlier, and puts some semblance of a game face on.  
  
So he follows behind Zayn as they make their way into the eatery, both finally resigned to it: they are in fact very hungry.  
  
There's a line full of teenagers out for the night, so Harry tries to make himself smaller, hunches, curls up. The last thing he wants to do is plaster a smile on his face, to pretend to be normal and happy, pose for pictures or sign In-N-Out paper hats. Harry doesn't want to be Harry Styles tonight, maybe never again, after the harsh words Zayn so carefully tossed his way.  
  
They take a step closer to the counter as Harry glances at Zayn. Zayn has his chin tilted up, eyes squinted slightly to read the menu, so he doesn't notice the eyes on him. Harry almost laughs, at being invisible next to Zayn Malik. Girls stare at his stance, shoulders, jawline, the stubble there, the way he licks his lips when he concentrates.  
  
But Zayn's not just a pretty face. He looks so smart, is the thing. He just exudes intelligence, the quiet kind that must settle in every conversation he has. Harry's pretty sure if he could write, he'd use the line _you're actually the most transparent human being I've ever had the displeasure of meeting_ in a play or musical. He'd give it to the hero, the protagonist with a good heart and a strong jaw. The line was pretty damn good, Harry can admit it.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry finally mumbles as they sit near the window and wait for their food, realizing this will all be over soon. "For earlier."  
  
Harry's sure Zayn will either ignore him or look away like he did during the drive earlier. But Zayn surprises him and sits forward, like he did in the restaurant before with his fingers clasped, to survey Harry head on. His gaze makes Harry shrink again, a little, it's that steady.  
  
"Do you need to talk about it?"  
  
Harry blinks, confused.  
  
"What?"  
  
"At first I thought you were an asshole. Just some asshole I could write off. But I think you've had a hard day. I think something set you off, and I can talk it out with you. If that's what you need," Zayn nods, businesslike.  
  
"You don't have to," Harry looks down at his ringed fingers, remembering that this is technically a business transaction. Zayn paid good money to meet Harry, have a nice dinner, not be his therapist.  
  
"I can yell at you again," Zayn nudges Harry's forearm, smiling.  
  
Harry chuckles and feels a rush to the head, as he stares at Zayn's smile. He liked it the second he saw it, even in his angry haze, even when he tried to hate it. Zayn has an intoxicating mouth.  
  
"I kind of dumped someone today. After I found out he was selling me out."  
  
"I saw that."  
  
"I'm sure a lot of people did," Harry sighs.  
  
"Well, that sucks. Sucks he did that to you, sucks people saw it online. You're allowed to be upset over things that suck. You are not, however, allowed to take that out on other people. And you're not allowed to act all woe-is-me forever."  
  
Harry nods. He wants Zayn to continue. He wants to be yelled at. It's been a very long time since someone has.  
  
"You were an asshole tonight. You tried to make me feel like shit exactly five minutes after you met me."  
  
Harry's ashamed again, his shoulder slag.  
  
"You can course correct, though. If this is how you've been acting lately, if the press is even a little right about you, you can stop it before it gets worse."  
  
"You sound like Seth."  
  
"Seth must have your best interests at heart, then."  
  
"He does."  
  
"Then listen to him. Don't half-ass it. If you want to be taken seriously, then make them."  
  
They busy themselves with their food then, after their number is called. Harry insisted on paying for them both, so Zayn hops up to grab it. Harry likes that Zayn seems to have an order to his motions, a method: the burger on the left of the tray, the fries on the right. He plays his napkin near his hand, situates his ketchup, before catching Harry's amused expression.  
  
"Is that what you did?" Harry wonders a few minutes later. "Like, for you to be so successful so young. Did you make people take you seriously?"  
  
"I suppose," Zayn shrugs, popping a fry into his mouth. "I always knew what I wanted to do. Worked hard, made myself network so people could see my designs. I wanted it. So I did it."  
  
"That must be nice."  
  
"How can you sell yourself so short?" Zayn scoffs. "You knew what you wanted to do as a kid and actually did it. You _are_ doing it, still. You're an actor."  
  
"Not lately."  
  
Zayn eyes Harry again, annoyed. Harry leans forward, keeps his voice low.  
  
"I'm just saying, I've been Lindsay Lohan'ed. It's pretty hard to get out of this kind of rut, once you're in it. Once they write you off as a train wreck, no matter where you go, you'll always be on the 'upswing' of a shitty career, a shitty life. And even then, they're just waiting to tear you back down again."  
  
Zayn doesn't eye Harry as harshly after that, and instead looks sad. Pitying. Like he knows what Harry says is true. Harry's aware it's true, he's been aware for a very long time, and plan or not, it's the reality of his situation. So he picks at his fries, wondering when Zayn will be done, so they can leave. So Zayn can go home and tell all his friends about how ridiculous the night was. Maybe Harry will give Zayn a refund for the donation, to make up for how awful he is, and instead donate the charity money himself. It's what he should've done all along.  
  
"Do you like yourself?"  
  
Harry startles, realizes he's zoned out, and looks at Zayn. Zayn's pushed his half eaten food away and has his hands folded again, all intense eyes and set jaw.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's a simple question."  
  
"Do _you_ like yourself?" Harry crosses his arms.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Harry rolls his eyes. Of course Zayn likes himself, he looks like that, has everything he's ever wanted.  
  
"Oh, so that's a bad thing? To like the person you are?" Zayn leans in. "I work hard. I'm nice, loyal, kind. I make sure to like myself, to appreciate the person I've built. Maybe you should try it. Maybe no one takes you seriously because you don't take yourself seriously. Maybe you think you're an asshole, a mess, so you act like an asshole. You make yourself into a mess."  
  
Harry stares at him.  
  
"If they've put you in a box, if you’ve built it yourself because of what they say, then break the hell out of it," Zayn finishes.  
  
It's the end of the night, Harry knows it about then. Zayn stands up and grabs their trays for the trash, and Harry follows. He's effectively been dismissed, it's time to go home. His hand is on the glass door, ready to push it and let Zayn out ahead of him, when he hears his name.  
  
"You're Harry Styles."  
  
Harry's dreaded this all night, someone recognizing him, so he almost keeps walking. But he turns around to see a little girl, may eight or nine, with a long ponytail over her shoulder, untied shoes, and a milkshake in her hand. No one is in line anymore, no one else has spotted him. It's just one girl, staring at him with wide brown eyes.  
  
"I am," he nods, smiling.  
  
"Can I take my picture with you?" she steps towards him timidly.  
  
"Sure, love. Do you have a phone?"  
  
She shakes her head, nervous. Her mom or dad probably has one, maybe a sibling brought her, and is in the restroom. But she keeps staring at him, in no rush to actually go find a phone or camera, so Harry just chuckles.  
  
Harry feels Zayn's hand wrap around his wrist, warm and firm. He's wondering if he's supposed to pull Harry away, not sure how to read his body language. Harry smiles at him.  
  
"Zayn, can you take a picture of us? I'll tweet it later, how's that sound?" He hands his own phone to Zayn and smiles at the girl, who can only nod. "What's your name?"  
  
"Claire."  
  
"Nice to meet you, Claire," Harry crouches down to her level, turning to Zayn. Zayn seems flustered, a little dazed, but he smiles a little as he holds up Harry's phone to accommodate him.  
  
Claire hardly blinks as Harry settles close to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. She's in shock that it's happening, but tries to smile alongside him. Harry can hear the murmurs behind them, the telltale sounds of a group of people realizing who he is, that he's there.  
  
Zayn snaps a few quick shots before Claire can clam up any further, and hands Harry his phone. Harry kisses her on the cheek and promises to put it on Twitter later, for her to grab. A few girls start to call his name, a few more camera phones pop up from the tables, all trying to catch a glimpse.  
  
But Harry only does a quick wave and nudges Zayn to leave, as the people inside start to push their noses at the windows. Preston has the car ready, probably saw it all happening. Before they scramble in, Zayn grips Harry's shoulder and squeezes, just once. Harry swears he can feel that pressure bone deep.  
  
And then they're gone.

  
  
***

  
Harry walks Zayn to the door. The irony is not lost on Harry, the night that wasn't ever a real date sort of ending like one. Zayn didn't stop him or say it was unnecessary when Harry opened his car door to follow after him, so Harry goes with it and almost trips over the first brick step.  
  
Zayn fiddles with his keys as they get to the door to his gorgeous two-story house. It's modern, all wooden panels and floor length windows, lamps illuminating each room. Harry could peer into each one of them, this close to the house, and he finds that he really wants to.  
  
"Thank you. For the ride home," Zayn nods cordially.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Well, I hope things end up okay for you, Harry."  
  
"You too. And thank you, for that donation. It was very generous of you. Sorry… sorry for being me, I guess," Harry shrugs, face hot.  
  
Zayn doesn't say anything and reaches for the door.  
  
"Hey Zayn?" Harry reaches a hand out, to grab Zayn's elbow. "Can I… can I text you maybe? Or email you?"  
  
Zayn quirks an eyebrow at the hand on his arm, before bringing his eyes up to meet Harry's. Harry shakes his head and barrels on.  
  
"I don't have any friends," Harry hears himself admit. "I don't have a family anymore. I don't have anyone to yell at me, when I'm an asshole. And you seem to know what you're doing. And you're so… good. You seem good. So can I maybe ask you for advice? When I need it?"  
  
Zayn doesn't reply, but does grab for Harry's phone in his left hand. Harry can't be sure, but Zayn's cheeks look quite rosy as well, matching Harry's. He quickly types in his information and hands the phone back.  
  
"You said Seth has your best interests at heart. And Preston takes care of you. You have people around, who can yell at you, if you let them. If you listen to what they say."  
  
"Okay, I will."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Good. But you will too, right?"  
  
"Maybe," Zayn nods with a smile as he steps inside. “Have a good one.”  
  
The door snaps shut and then Harry's standing there alone.

  
  
***

  
My lovely new friend couldn’t find her phone, so I got the photo for us right here. All the love to you, Claire, H.  pic.twitter.com/5538122  
_\- Harry Styles. (@Harry_Styles) 11:29 pm - May 31, 2017_

  
  
***

  
_**Seth G 11:31 pm:** Hello? Are you home yet? Please tell you me you didn’t go out after, it would not look good, H. Did you see my text earlier? This is so huge! Can I call you in a few minutes?_  
  
_**HS 11:31 pm:** I’m home, I’m good. I’m gonna be better. I really swear it this time. Thanks for everything. Let’s set up the meeting ASAP._  
  
_**HS 11:32 pm:** Because I think “very different” is exactly what I need. I WANT this, Seth. I want something new. _  
  
_**HS 11:33 pm:** I want out of the box._

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me:  
> [Twitter](http://twitter.com/this_onegoes/)  
> [Tumblr](http://this-onegoes.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Liam Payne – I ‘Laughed’ at Recent Styles News**  
_6/4/2017 2:30 PM PDT BY TMZ STAFF_  
  
Liam Payne has a painful message for former lover Harry Styles – “Karma’s a bitch!”  
  
Payne – Los Angeles-based DJ and club promoter who we  caught just days ago collecting a pile of clothes from Styles’ driveway – told us on his way through LAX that he has zero sympathy for Styles’ recent love troubles.  
  
It’s been reported since Friday – the day Payne was ceremoniously kicked from Styles’ house after a lovers’ quarrel – that Styles had a West Hollywood date just that night that went south. Sources inside WeHo’s Dan Tana’s restaurant reported that Styles had a drink thrown in his face, a hushed argument, and an unnamed male brush him off.  
  
Payne, on his way to New York to host Club V’s opening night, told our photographer his feelings about Styles. He wouldn’t divulge exactly what their argument was about, just gave a vague smile as he hitched his bag further up his arm, but he didn’t totally hold back. [Video HERE.]  
  
“I did laugh when I heard all that, yeah. Had some date give him what he deserves, I guess. Trust me, people don’t know half the sh*t I know about Harry Styles.”  
  
Then, to make things perfectly clear, Payne added, “I f*cking hate that guy. You should ask him about his parents, man. See what he says.”  
  
As we’ve previously reported, Styles has lived alone in LA the last few years in Beverly Hills, after his parents moved back to their hometown in Northern California. He’s never said why or what the reason was.  
  
  
  
**PIC: Harry Styles and Mystery Date Have An Intense Stare Down**  
_US Weekly Staff – posted June 5, 2017_  
  
Harry Styles had a hot date last week and we finally have clear photos!  
  
The “Year Zero” actor, 22, hit up Dan Tana’s Italian restaurant in West Hollywood Friday night, with a mystery guy on his arm.  
  
Dressed in black jeans and a dark sweater, Styles met up with a handsome dark haired man wearing an equally dark ensemble of his own. Although Styles’ date has yet to be identified, it seems they only had eyes for each other. Photographers caught them outside the restaurant before hopping into a black SUV, with intense eyes and a hushed conversation.  
  
Sources inside the restaurant say the twosome didn’t stay long and didn’t have dinner. They apparently had a few drinks, one of which may have reportedly been thrown in Styles’ face. It hasn’t been confirmed, but social media lit up with speculation over a fight, just hours after fuming DJ Liam Payne yelled up to Styles from his driveway.  
  
Styles’ rep gave no comment to either story, and simply told us, “We don’t comment on any of our clients’ personal lives.”  
  
So what do you think? Do these two look seconds away from making out OR WHAT?  
  
  
  
**BREAKING: Harry Styles Cast in Soderbergh’s ‘Repulsive Individuals’ | Deadline**  
_By Janet Dodd – June 9, 2017 – 6:14 pm_  
  
"Growing" alum Harry Styles has become the final cast member of “Repulsive Individuals,” Universal’s drama written and executive produced by Stephen Soderbergh and Joey Caston. Taking inspiration from Caston’s early work in the high-end real estate business in Vegas, “Repulsive Individuals” centers on Clay Daugherty (George Clooney), a rule-bending morally corrupt broker at the center of a million dollar scandal. Styles will play one of Daugherty’s protégées, Andrew. It’s rumored that Andrew is the son of Daugherty, but as is Soderbergh’s way, the script has been locked tight and it can’t be confirmed.  
  
Styles, repped by PMK and RJ Red, also starred on HBO’s drama series “Innocent” and recurred on the short-lived Fox series “Sampson Homemaker.” On the feature side, he most recently was seen in last fall’s “Year Zero.”  
  
Subscribe to Deadline Breaking News Alerts here. Make your inbox happy.

  
  
***

  
It’s always amazed Harry how fast things can turn around. A bottle of soda, once opened, only has a few hours. One hit of heroin and his high school classmate Pete was addicted beyond repair. Car accidents, tornadoes that form from a quick temperature drop, babies being born. They all happen in an instant, a few cosmic seconds, the world suddenly different.  
  
It used to freak Harry out, the way the tide could change for any given person on any given day. It’s what his dad used to say, when they’d sit on the beach when Harry was young and watch the literal tide ebb and flow before them. Des, ever the teacher, would say that just like most big, important things, the tide changes fast. He’d pat Harry’s mop head and say something like, “If you think you’re about to be swept under, just wait a few seconds. It’s always changing so you learn to roll with it. Kick hard, swim fast. You’ll be just fine.”  
  
Maybe that’s why Harry enjoys the wind so much. Their northern California home wasn’t near the beach, they didn’t make it to the ocean often. So the wind helped, when Harry needed to remember his dad’s advice. Even now, he craves the way it blows his hair, licks at his face, as if to prove every single day that the world is constantly moving.  
  
Harry smiles as he remembers his dad’s old advice. He can’t help it. He’s been reading beautiful words and important dialogue his entire life. He knows how to read a scene and find the heart in it, to use his face to say what’s not on the page. But this also means he knows a cliché when he sees it, so he hates to admit that his “tide is changing” now, even though it is.  
  
After the disaster at dinner with Zayn, and the following press, Harry was sure that Seth would soon forget about him and finally drop him from the agency for good. Poor Seth, tied to a sinking ship, would finally let Harry go and cut his losses. He texted Harry about the Soderbergh movie, and of course would try for the meeting, but Harry didn’t get his hopes up completely. He took Zayn’s advice and decided to break out of the shitty box the industry decided to drop him in. But Harry’s tide hadn’t changed in a very long time.  
  
It wasn’t until it was actually happening in real time, right there in front of Harry’s eyes, that he believed it. Harry walked into that conference room to finally meet Stephen Soderbergh, the Oscar-winning director and producer. He shook hands with a Hollywood legend, someone who was infamous for being tough and demanding on set, but understanding and generous with his actors.  
  
Harry Styles, resident “bad boy” and Hollywood laughing stock, had Stephen Soderbergh say that he “saw something” in him. Vulnerability, emotional edge, eyes that tell a story. He told Harry he was exactly what he needed for his film, someone who could stand next to George fucking Clooney and sell it, someone who’s had the world against him and still gets up every morning to try again.  
  
He handed Harry a script, bound and dated, just for him. His new Andrew.  
  
Harry didn’t cry there at the table, of course he didn’t, but he cried hours later after he read the script cover to cover, when he called Seth. He told Seth how he didn’t even need to officially audition, that Stephen said he never read anyone else because he only wanted Harry. He cried because it was perfect, he was Andrew, it was so mirrored to his life, he could do this. He cried because his prayers were answered, it was all so last minute, the way the movie got financed and green-lit, and now it’s all happening. They start shooting in July.  
  
Seth didn’t cry on the phone to Harry, of course he didn’t, but Harry would bet his entire life savings that he cried once they hung up. Seth, who once threatened to send Harry to rehab, now had a client who didn’t have to audition for Soderbergh and was offered a part immediately. It’s unreal. Harry Styles has a job again.  
  
So now Harry can’t help but bite at his thumbnail in excitement as he scrolls through the trades in his living room the next day. Deadline, the go-to site for all things “inside Hollywood,” officially announced the casting news. It’s right there for everyone to see, a real live link to Harry’s future, his entire career. The comments have already started to roll in, as Harry refreshes the page over and over. They say he’s the wrong choice, a brat who won’t appreciate the opportunity, a cokehead who will only be disrespectful and late for rehearsals.  
  
Maybe Harry would’ve cared yesterday. Maybe would’ve thrown his phone across the room, to join his busted iPad still on the kitchen floor, upset that they’re all still laughing at him. He would’ve seen the other articles floating around about him, about his date with Zayn, and couple it with the comments. He’d pout and drown in gin, or worse, call up someone from Hyde to save a VIP table for him.  
  
But instead, Harry smiles. He took the advice of a stranger and punched a hole through the box they all shoved him into. He looks at the contract on his coffee table, the one Seth had messengered over first thing that morning. It’s in official writing, Harry Styles to play Andrew Daugherty, the character he felt in his bones. It’s all there, ready for him, looked over by the lawyers to check each clause and salary negotiation, annotated and highlighted, waiting for his signature. It’s all right there.  
  
Harry Styles has a job again.  
  
And the very first person he wants to tell is Zayn Malik.

  
  
***

  
**From:** H Edward,  <hedward@me.com>  
**To:** Zayn Malik,  <zayn.malik@McoINC.com>  
  
**Subject:** No Subject  
June 9, 2017 - 7:02 PM PST  
  
Zayn –  
  
I know you gave me your number as well, but I didn’t know if you’d want me calling or texting you. You might’ve just given it to be polite, which was very nice of you. So I thought email would be safer, if that’s okay.  
  
I just wanted to say thank you for the other night, not just for the advice, but for all of it, for the time you spent with me. When you weren’t yelling at me, and when I wasn’t being a jerk, it was a pretty nice night. (Sorry for the stupid press, not sure if you’ve seen it, but yeah, they had a few pictures. People said we fought, I may have even slapped you in one story, or maybe it was the other way around, which happens to people when they’re seen with me, collateral damage and all that. Sorry. My team tried to keep it private, but it sort of happens whether we like it or not. Sorry.)  
  
I wanted you to know something, too. After we dropped you off, I talked to Seth. He got me a huge meeting about a new role. It’s different, way different from what I’m known for, I guess. I’ve played a teenager, a class president, the cheeky next-door neighbor, the cute kid, the gay college co-ed dealing with a sexuality crisis. But I’ve never been anything this adult before. I have to wear a suit and everything, I get to really broaden and expand and learn again. It’s just so perfect for me, I can’t believe it. Soderbergh said he saw something in me, something I don’t really understand, but it feels good, you know?  
  
So thank you for that as well. You said to break out of the box, do you remember? You said to take myself seriously so everyone else will. This is me, doing just that. I’m really going to try hard to be better now, to do something different. To be different.  
  
Sorry this is so long. I ramble sometimes. But that’s it, just wanted to say thank you for everything. It was all because of your advice.  
  
Can I call you? Did you just give me your number to be polite?  
  
Thanks,  
H

  
  
***

  
The next morning, after complete radio silence from Zayn, Harry tells himself to focus. Zayn doesn’t seem like the type to get that sort of email and leave it unanswered, so Harry tries to focus his energy on the task at hand.  
  
First and foremost, it means brunch with Seth.  
  
Instead of doing brunch with Seth alone, Harry asks Preston to come along so he can celebrate with his two favorite people. Preston rolls his eyes and says it’s his day off, but he still drives to Seth’s favorite spot with a smile on his face. A few paps catch them walking into the café, so Harry tosses out a peace sign and a wide smile. For all he knows, they’ll say he’s already giddy and stoned, before noon and everything, but he can’t seem to care.  
  
“Harry fucking Styles,” Seth holds his arms out, beaming.  
  
Harry practically runs to him, gets enveloped in a massive hug, as a patio full of people look on. They’re probably already tweeting his arrival, as Preston holds up a hand to an especially shameless teen boy with a camera phone. The flash goes off and he must only get Preston’s palm, as he turns away dejected.  
  
“This is amazing,” Seth shakes his head like he still can’t believe it. They settle at the table, coffee already steaming and waiting. “This is it, H. It’s what we wanted all along.”  
  
“You were right, I guess,” Harry winks. “You said to follow through with the plan, that it would all work out. You were right.”  
  
“But you did it. You did everything we said! That’s worthy of a celebration in and of itself!”  
  
Preston snorts into his coffee, right as a server comes to take their orders. Harry, now more aware that he’ll be on camera in a month, asks for fruit and plain yogurt.  
  
“Okay, so we sent the contract back to Universal, it’s a done deal on that front,” Seth checks his phone, his eye twitching. “You’ll be paid a percentage of the box office take, in addition to salary. Filming starts here in July, we’ll have production send you the schedule. The Vegas portions will be shot in August.”  
  
Harry nods, drinks his coffee, tries to pay attention to the details. He knows, as well as Seth, that this will all be emailed to him by one of the assistants in the office, along with more instructions. But he indulges him regardless.  
  
“There’s just one more thing,” Seth sits forward.  
  
There’s the tone Harry knows lately, the serious father-like tone Harry can’t help but remember from March when he last told Harry to get his shit together for the plan. So Harry nods, ready for the lecture.  
  
“Harry,” Seth crosses his hands and squints. “The dinner with Zayn Malik, as you know, didn’t exactly go as planned. I know you had a hard day and we talked it all over about Liam being out of the picture for good. We talked about how we need to deal with the press, you staying out of it as much as possible. Those fuckers don’t get a piece of you anymore. That’s what we said, right?”  
  
Harry nods. They talked after the Liam fight, after TMZ posted the video of Harry’s rash decision to toss Liam’s clothes to the driveway. He’s heard this before, he’s ready to be better now, to not give them ammunition.  
  
“But now things have changed. You’re on Deadline for something positive, for once. People want to know about you now more than ever, for your work, your job, your success. Now the press needs to be our friend. We can’t piss them off or give them any reason to dislike you or your choices.”  
  
“I’ll be good,” Harry nods, sure of himself.  
  
“Harry.”  
  
“I will, I promise. Tell him, P. I’ll be good. You’ll make sure I don’t go out.”  
  
Preston scratches at his meaty neck and looks out towards the street. The paparazzi sit in their cars, near the valet and at the corner across the street. Waiting. Harry tries to elbow him to pay attention.  
  
“Harry, I’m serious. I know you’ve read the comments. They think you’re going to fuck this up.”  
  
“I won’t.”  
  
“That’s good to hear,” Seth nods. “And I believe you. I know you want this to work. This script is good, this movie will be huge. You’re George Clooney’s fucking son, for Christ’s sake.”  
  
Harry can’t help but smile. George sent him a text a few hours after the Deadline announcement, to welcome him to the project. Everyone says how nice he is, how it’s a gift to be able to work closely with him, and Harry won’t allow himself to fuck it up. If he’s going to pretend to be Clooney’s son, it’s going to be with his head held high, his lines memorized, and his face fresh.  
  
“I won’t fuck up. I won’t go out.”  
  
“That’s what I need to hear,” Seth nods again, faster now. “No clubs. No bars. If a story comes out about you being wasted in a VIP section, I want to be able to explicitly yell at them: Harry was home last night, Harry wasn’t there, this is false, this is a lie. Got it? I want that to be true, you being good, you laying low. I don’t want them to see you at fucking _Von’s_ buying a bottle of wine, H. You want wine, ask Preston to grab you some.”  
  
Harry nods.  
  
“Really? Ask me to do your grocery shopping and see what happens,” Preston murmurs from the side of his mouth. The two of them laugh like teenagers, as Seth rolls his eyes.  
  
“Just use this time to focus. Hike. Do yoga. Give money to charity. Be positive. If you decide to go to the beach, by all means let me know and I can… drop a few hints about your whereabouts to show how happy and healthy you are.”  
  
It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes, because even though Seth alerts paps all the time to where his clients are, it still sounds pretentious and ridiculous every time it’s brought up in casual conversation.  
  
“Furthermore,” Seth presses on, nodding to each of them, “please do not go to restaurants just the two of you. Clearly they see Preston and think they can write him out of every article entirely. We don’t want them saying you’re eating alone, talking to yourself again.”  
  
“I’ll stay home until the movie starts, I don’t care.”  
  
“You can leave the house, just bring other people with you.”  
  
“I don’t have any friends,” Harry frowns, realizing anyone he has currently in his phone would want him to get wasted every night. They all know Liam. They’re all the opposite of what Harry needs now.  
   
“I’ll have some of the assistants go out with you, then,” Seth shrugs, scrolling through his phone now. “I’ll have the girls from my office be your friends.”  
  
“That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard,” Harry sighs into the fruit and yogurt now set in front of him, as Seth and Preston start to discuss logistics of Harry’s shooting schedule and how many more print interviews they can squeeze in to create more positive buzz.  
  
Harry zones out then. It would be nice to have other people to spend time with. It would be nice to spend this prep time before the movie actually relaxing and relishing in the fact that he’s on his way back. It would be nice to do what he told Tim months ago: find someone.  
  
Just then, Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

  
  
***

  
**From:** Zayn Malik,  <zayn.malik@McoINC.com>  
**To:** H Edward,  <hedward@me.com>  
  
**Subject:** RE:  
June 10, 2017 - 10:11 AM PST  
  
Hi Harry. Good to see you emailed, it’s nice to hear from you. I saw the movie announcement, that’s really great. I don’t know how much I helped, seems like you and your people did all the work. Don’t discount your accomplishments like that, don’t give the power to me or anyone else. Seems like that director liked you, wanted you for you, right? Own that. Yell it out to the world that you have something no one else has. You got the part because he sees you. It wasn’t me at all.  
  
Hope it goes well. Hope it’s everything you want it to be.  
  
And yes Harry, you can call me.

  
  
***

  
Very excited to be working on Repulsive Individuals (the movie, not a group of gross human beings). Not that any human is gross. Sorry.  
_\- Harry Styles. (@Harry_Styles) 7:12 pm - June 10, 2017_  
  
It’s a dream to work with Stephen, George,  & rest of the cast. I hope I make you proud. I’ve worked very hard to get here. All the love, H.  
_\- Harry Styles. (@Harry_Styles) 7:14 pm - June 10, 2017_

  
  
***

  
It’s a little ridiculous that it’s taken Harry as long as it has to remember what Louis Tomlinson always used to tell him. “We’re here to look out for you, Baby Tarzan. It’s what my old cast did for me, when I got my first show. So you let us know if you need help.”  
  
Louis, who had Props make him a fake high school diploma when he “graduated” high school on the “Growing” set, did always tell Harry that he was there if he needed guidance. It was true then, and Harry knew it was still true, even after the years they’ve spent on different coasts. It’s not until Harry sees a tweet about Louis and his girlfriend staying in LA for a few weeks while he shoots a spring pilot that he remembers, with a self inflicted smack across his forehead.  
  
He gets a second smack when Louis sneaks up on him on his phone near the outdoor coffee stand in the Culver City Westfield mall. Harry almost topples over the glass railing, to the tiled floor outside a L'Occitane on the lower level, as Louis pulls at his collar to save him.  
  
“How is my favorite tween,” Louis cackles, pulling Harry in for a hug.  
  
“Hey Lou,” Harry laughs, holding tight. He smells the same, like the shampoo he always had in his dressing room across from Harry’s. He remembers Louis taking him to the commissary on the Sony lot, to get the “best pizza ever” almost every Friday for the three years they spent on set together. Harry even stayed with Louis for the month Harry’s parents spent in Europe between the second and third seasons. Harry tries not to think of that so much, because of what that meant at the time, but he can’t help it now. Louis was there and made Harry feel like the coolest guy in the world, instead of a stupid goofy kid.  
  
Harry hugs him tighter and realizes that Louis smells like his childhood.  
  
“So how many are we looking at here,” Louis steps back to hold Harry’s cheeks between his palms.  
  
“I saw a camera downstairs, but I’m not sure if he followed me up here. And there are two more over by the movie theatre, shooting us right this very second,” Harry smiles.  
  
“How picturesque we must look,” Louis winks. “Come on, Baby Clooney. Let’s show the world how you have your old friend on your side, hmm? Let’s go buy you a hundred new shirts.”  
  
“I have shirts.”  
  
“You should burn all of them,” Louis pulls him away towards Guess.  
  
That photo set, of Harry Styles and old co-star/friend Louis Tomlinson shopping in the gorgeous Los Angeles sunshine, runs on almost every entertainment website the next morning.  
  
Harry looks happy and healthy in every single shot.

  
  
***

  
**Rules of the Rebound (According to Celebs)**  
_Cosmopolitan.com, June issue – **VIEW GALLERY**_  
  
_Sometimes, the best thing to help you bounce back from a breakup is a new guy (and we're not talking about Ben or Jerry). Steal a strategy from these celebs._  
By Jane Davidson      
  
_Photo 3 of 10_  
  
**3\. Harry Styles**  
_REBOUND RULE: Tap into your social circle._  
  
Recently single from DJ Liam Payne, “Repulsive Individuals” star Harry Styles is reportedly dating a new secret guy, courtesy of his friend and past co-star Louis Tomlinson. His new boyfriend, who sources say is “much older, with kids from a previous relationship” allegedly works on Tomlinson’s publicity team. Smart! After all, what better source than your friends to set you up with hot new prospects.  
  
_REBOUND RULE: Keep people guessing._  
  
But ever the enigma, Harry has also been spotted with another mystery guy. This past month, he was caught in an intense moment with a raven-haired male model in West Hollywood. You can see in the  pictures how into it Harry is. Everyone’s been buzzing – is he or isn’t he with this guy? Harry’s not talking, and that sense of mystery adds to his allure. It’s proof that having a few sexy secrets can help you get your mojo back.  
  
_Next slide…_

  
  
***

  
“So what’s his name,” Louis kicks his feet up onto the edge of the fire pit in Harry’s backyard. It’s well after dusk now. They had dinner at Hugo’s with some of the agents from Louis’s team and managed to get out relatively unscathed, once Preston grabbed both their wrists to get through the flashbulbs.  
  
Harry takes a seat opposite him, wrapped up in one of the new sweaters Louis insisted he buy, black with white specks all across it. It still has that new clothing smell, which Harry should definitely wash out.  
  
“Who?” Harry tries to play dumb, thumbing at his new sleeves. Louis rolls his eyes because he knows when Harry is trying to be purposefully deflective. But he also knows when Harry does so, it’s for a reason.  
  
Louis pokes at the logs in the fire pit, sending shadows across both of them.  
  
“Date guy. The one from a few weeks back, before you called me.”  
  
“It wasn’t a date.”  
  
“Sure it wasn’t.”  
  
“It really wasn’t,” Harry scowls. “Seth had me do this contest thing, for someone to donate money to animals. He won a night to meet me.”  
  
“Romantic.”  
  
“Hardly. I had just tossed Liam out on his ass for the whole fucking world to see, because I’m an idiot. I didn’t make a good impression that night.”  
  
Louis gives him a discerning eye. It’s such a loaded expression, one that tells Harry all over again that he’s older and wiser. Harry learned how to lie from people like Louis, the older cast members who came to morning blocking meetings with sunglasses on, swearing up and down to the ADs that they weren’t hung over from a Chateau party. Louis gives Harry a look like he sees right through him, like a true AD. Harry almost changes the subject, to tell him that if he decides to quit acting, he should try being in charge of actors. He’d be great at it.  
  
“So you never talked to him again.”  
  
Harry leans back in his chair and instead looks towards the night sky, too lit up from the lights of the city to see any real stars.  
  
“That’s what I thought,” Louis kicks at his foot. “So?”  
  
“We’ve emailed.”  
  
“That all?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Have you called him? You should, honestly. I saw the pictures from outside Dan Tana’s. I could tell it was all bullshit, the story they spun, but it wasn’t completely unfounded. You looked like you wanted to jump him.”  
  
“I did not.”  
  
“You get this look, like a baby lion seeing a dead antelope for the first time. It’s adorable and shameful all at once,” Louis says with a smile.  
  
Harry crosses his arm, his tell for when Louis calls him on something too true to think hard about. Truthfully, and he’d never admit this, Harry did look at the pictures. He’s done it for as long as he can remember, after being seen with someone of importance. It’s like he needs to see what the world sees, Harry Styles next to someone. He likes to read his own expression, to gauge how he feels. And it’s true: Zayn looked delicious on that street corner, even as he glared at Harry for being a dick. They both looked about thirty seconds from stepping close to gnaw into skin, tear flesh, scratch eyes.  
  
But after Zayn’s email, Harry couldn’t call him. He wasn’t sure why, but he has a feeling it has about ten different layers to it. For one, he felt as intimidated and small as he did at In-N-Out. Zayn was so polished and pristine. If he were a letter, he’d be a capital I, proud and upright. Up against Harry, a lowercase g if there ever was one, all weird angles and swooping curves, Zayn’s too perfect.  
  
It was easier to think he didn’t stand a chance, when he first sent an email that started with “you probably felt sorry for me.” But when Zayn replied with such a perfect answer, telling him to be strong and proud, with a clear invitation to call him, Harry tensed up.  
  
“He said I could call,” Harry finally admits. “He said to call him, but I haven’t.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because I’d probably fuck it up. And he’s really hot.”  
  
“You’re really hot.”  
  
“I’m a baby lion, remember? He’s _hot_ , Lou.”  
  
Louis presses his foot against Harry’s leg again, warm and steady, effectively using his body language to let Harry know he knows that’s not all.  
  
Louis is correct of course, because that’s another layer: Harry knows he’s good looking, he’s always thought so. It’s hard to act and be confident on camera without having the self-awareness to one’s looks. But Zayn’s smile should be on a magazine cover, not Harry’s. And Harry didn’t miss it, the way Zayn didn’t comment on the news stories and photos. His email left that entire part out, if it bothered him, or worse, if he liked it.  
  
Harry doesn’t know if he can handle having someone like Liam around again, someone who likes him because of who he is and what he can get for free. Zayn’s not the Liam type, Harry knows it in his gut, but still. He’s seen cameras make people do all sorts of out-of-character things.  
  
“You know,” Louis shrugs knowingly, “Seth did tell you to stay close to home.”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry nods. “So what?”  
  
“You don’t have to go anywhere crazy to see him. This may be news to you, Styles… but not everything needs to be shown to the world.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“So invite him over here. Away from everyone. Just you two.”  
  
Harry scratches at his neck and considers it. It would eliminate many of the problems that seem to follow him around like a literal lens.  
  
“Yeah, maybe,” he ends up shrugging, resigned.  
  
Louis smiles because he knows that’s Harry’s way of agreeing. Harry rolls his eyes because it’s true, he might as well start planning an at-home date as they sit there.

  
  
***

  
**From:** Seth Gould,  <sethg@RJred-management.com>  
**To:** H Edward,  <hedward@me.com>  
  
**Subject:** did you see the article?!  
June 13, 2017 - 8:56 AM PST  
  
H, did you see the link I texted you?! You didn’t respond last night. Slate did a write-up about the movie, how it’s supposed to be a big project for Clooney. They quoted him, said he said he can’t wait to work with you. He “looks forward to seeing what the kid is about.” The kid! You’re his kid! Rehearsals start soon, are you getting ready?  
  
And in case I haven’t said it lately, I’m proud of you for laying low. You’re making both of our jobs much easier. How’s it been with Lou?  
  
Also, I have Alfonso from Wardrobe on deck to set up fittings and screen tests. They need to fit you for Stephen. He’s particular about wardrobe. Eat greens. Go for runs, and wash your face every night, you know it helps.  
  
Dinner this week? Come to the house on Wednesday or Thursday. Text me back.  
  
S  
  
  
  
_**Seth Gould**_  
_**Senior Talent Manager, RJ Red Management**_

  
  
***

  
Do we know for sure who Harry Styles will be playing in this new Clooney movie? I’ve never seen him in anything. What should I watch?  
_\- Doug McCabe (@dougmccabe) 7:57 pm – June 14, 2017_  
  
hey @celebsoutnow my friend whos neighbors w/ @Harry_Styles said a hot guy showed up at his house a few minutes ago, couldn’t get a pic tho  
_\- *shiva* (@avihsa77v) 8:35 pm – June 14, 2017_  
  
I just saw Harry Styles making out with like three dudes at Hyde in Vegas, holy shit. Like he’s so fucked up. I can tell all the way from the bar!  
_\- xxxxCass (@cstacey1991) 8:36 pm – June 14, 2017_

  
  
***

  
Harry can’t help but pace, as he waits. Zayn said he’d be over at 8:00, but it’s almost 8:15 and still no Zayn in the driveway. He said he’d be driving himself, so Harry texted him the code to the gate so he won’t have to buzz it and hear Harry’s voice over the speaker. Harry feels lame for wanting it, but he’d rather like for Zayn to come all the way to the door, before Harry has to speak to him. He wants it face to face.  
  
Harry texted Zayn the day before, sure that if he didn’t, he’d hear about it from Louis eventually. And true to fashion, about ten minutes after he sent a quick _hello_ , Louis called him to ream him about second guessing someone who clearly invited further interaction.  
  
It wasn’t quite the phone call Harry asked for, far from the polite phone conversation Zayn approved of. But Zayn only made Harry wait ten minutes before he responded with a _hello_ of his own. He then said yes to the invitation to come to the house, far away from peeping eyes at a restaurant.  
  
Harry looks at his phone right at 8:26, when he hears the knock. He hurries to the door, pressing fingertips to his curls and pirate shirt, to settle his nerves.  
  
Zayn Malik’s there on the other side of Harry’s double oak front doors, a hand in one jean pocket and the other holding a six pack of beer. He smiles, not as brightly as he did when they first met weeks before, but politely. He’s cut his hair, Harry realizes, shaved on the sides but long on top and in his eyes. Harry wonders what it feels like, if it would look like ink between his fingers.  
  
“Hey,” Harry shakes his head, the idiot. “Come in.”  
  
“Thanks,” Zayn steps inside, hardly making any noise in the massive two-story entryway.  
  
“I’m – this is nice of you, to come over. Thanks for coming.”  
  
“Of course. Thanks for inviting me,” Zayn nods with a smile, hand still in his pocket. “Thought you just wanted me to yell at you sometimes, over the phone. So this was a surprise.”  
  
Harry bites his lip and sweeps his eyes across Zayn’s shoulders as he turns away to look up the spiral staircase and towards the sitting room, taking it in. Harry’s house isn’t as modern as Zayn’s, but neat, all creams and browns, plush and inviting. At night it’s even better, when he throws open all the back patio doors, the white floor length curtains breezing like waving ghosts. It makes the whole lower floor of the house just _feel_ like summer.  
  
Zayn turns and squints his eyes to see the map of the world Harry has near the staircase, the beer bottles shaking slightly in his hand. He’s in a hoodie, some big red Nike thing, since Harry mentioned it would be a casual night of sitting around. He swims in it, it’s big on him, and Harry wants to run over to him and shove his head up under the fabric to press his lips to Zayn’s chest. Harry bets it feels nice and safe inside Zayn’s sweatshirt.  
  
But he just watches Zayn, the way he moves.  
  
“This is a Gall-Peters projection,” Zayn turns to him, pointing to the map.  
  
“Uh, yeah. It is.”  
  
Zayn nods, impressed.  
  
“My dad’s a high school history teacher. We had maps all over our house when I was growing up. I… I don’t know, I like maps, I guess,” Harry points to it dumbly.  
  
Zayn smiles at him then, again. It’s warmer, a tad brighter, like the one Harry almost fell for the first time. Harry realizes how rude he’s been, grabbing for the beer and leading Zayn towards the back kitchen and adjoining TV room.  
  
They don’t speak again until they’re on either side of the huge couch Harry bought for movie nights. It’s so deep set, when they lean back into it, their bare feet hardly dangle off the edge. Zayn smooths a hand over the fabric, his skin honey and gorgeous against it, appreciating the space.  
  
“I like your house.”  
  
“Thanks. I like yours, what I saw of it, in Long Beach.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Harry takes a long drink of the beer Zayn brought, realizing he hasn’t taken the edge off in weeks. He really has been good, even while at home alone. He’s done as Seth said: hiking, yoga, face washing, meditating, preparing. But the cool liquid settles in his empty stomach, fills him up immediately, and he schools his face to be calm instead of dancing around in ticks and lip bites.  
  
Harry’s usually better at this, at drawing someone into his space to make them feel comfortable. He doesn’t know where his usual bravado went, why he can’t make a stupid joke or tell Zayn he has a pretty face.  
  
Zayn’s voice draws him out of his head, belatedly.  
  
“What? I’m sorry,” Harry shakes his head. “What were you saying?”  
  
Zayn eyes him from his end of the couch, not in the condescending way from the restaurant, or even the calculating way from the car. It’s like he’s pondering Harry, weighing some sort of option in his head, turning his chin slightly.  
  
“I said you’re different. Than what I expected.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Harry clears his throat, nervous.  
  
“When you showed up at the restaurant, you were Harry Styles, of course. I told you, I’ve been a fan since I was younger. I expected you to be all charming and sweet.”  
  
Harry blinks.  
  
“And okay, I suppose you can be,” Zayn tilts his beer bottle towards him politely. “But then you were an ass, which I hated and ripped you a new one for. But you didn’t hate me for that. You didn’t… I expected you to fight back when you came up to me outside.”  
  
“I don’t really love confrontation,” Harry’s cheeks heat up. “Except for like, when I have to. When I have an asshole in my bed, with a phone full of texts to TMZ.”  
  
“He sold you out to TMZ?” Zayn frowns.  
  
“Yeah,” Harry nods, resigned.  
  
“See, if that were me, I would’ve sued. I genuinely would’ve gone to immediately call my lawyer. I would’ve pounced like a jackal. You… Harry Styles, you threw his clothes over a railing,” Zayn ends up shaking his head, almost amused.  
  
“He doesn’t like when his stuff gets dirty,” Harry smiles.  
  
“I’m just saying, you’re different than what I thought. It’s nice.”  
  
“Thanks?”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
They sit in silence for a few minutes, the summer breeze swirling the plants near the open windows. Sometimes Harry wishes he were close enough to the beach to hear waves. And other times, it’s nice to just have the wind. It’s nice to sit still, to savor the silence. It’s even nicer to have someone else there, someone he doesn’t pay for overtime, to listen alongside him. Eventually Harry breaks the spell. He knows what he wants now. He probably knew the second Zayn commented on his map near the stairs.  
  
“Hey so,” Harry sets his beer on the coffee table. “You said I could call you for advice.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“And I still can?”  
  
“Sure,” Zayn nods politely. “If you need someone to help you out, sure. But I told you, you have to give yourself more credit. You’re doing really well.”  
  
“Thanks,” Harry barrels on, to get to the point. “But I agree, that I don’t always need advice. Like I don’t want that to be the only reason to call you.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“So maybe we can go out. Sometime. Together.”  
  
Zayn leans forward to set his own beer on the table, leaning on his knees to cross his hands. Harry’s reminded, even in a simple sweatshirt and ripped jeans, with his long hair and devilish smile, Zayn Malik is still a businessman. He knows what he wants, too.  
  
“You wanna go on a date with me, Harry Styles?”  
  
“Yes,” Harry nods.  
  
“I thought that’s what this was.”  
  
“Okay,” Harry’s eyes widen, dumbfounded. He didn’t know if Zayn would want a date, let alone would think this was one. Harry bites his bottom lip, rushes on. “I mean, if you’re sure you can like, handle it. I don’t want what happened with Liam… the way he invited them in, how they talked and speculated. I don’t want cameras. But even then, it might get… invasive. Or weird. They’ll want your name, they’ll want pieces of you.”  
  
Zayn gets that look like had at In-N-Out, like he knows what Harry says is the unfortunate truth. But it’s not as pitying, which is good. Harry doesn’t want Zayn to pity him.  
  
“People know my name. Some people do, at least,” Zayn shrugs. “And I’m a grown up. I can handle it.”  
  
Harry can’t help but smile, the big one he curls up slowly, the one that tilts his face down. His dimples and white teeth and scrunched nose all on full display. Zayn sure is a grown up, a man, a solid one with a nice watch and a nice car in Harry’s driveway.  
  
Harry can’t help but smile, as he randomly thinks about all the people who have spent years laughing at him. Harry will have the last laugh after all. He gestures to the couch, to see if Zayn wants to sit closer.  
  
Zayn seems to be into it, as he slides towards Harry with bright eyes and a smirk of his own.  
  
Later, as they settle closer with their beers, the lights dimmed as they watch some horror movie on SyFy, Harry turns his head to stare at Zayn’s profile. Zayn catches him, gives him a pretty legit side-eye, but lets him look. Harry wants to kiss him, wants to completely ravage him, use the new bottle of lube up in his room. He wants Zayn to open him up, to bite at the tattoos along his hips, to inhale Harry like oxygen. But there are important steps that need to happen first.  
  
“Hey,” Harry whispers, bringing a timid hand to Zayn’s thigh touching his.  
  
“Hi,” Zayn whispers back, turning to Harry finally.  
  
“Are you sure you want to do this? Even… casual, for me, starts to feel _not_ casual.”  
  
“Yes, Harry. We can do this. We’ll do it at our own pace. Fuck what anyone else says.”  
  
“I’ll need to tell Seth.”  
  
“Then tell Seth.”  
  
“We can try to contain it, but… it won’t last long.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Okay then,” Harry nods.  
  
Harry could go further, could warn Zayn that everyone will pick it apart, like it always happens. They’ll be seen and the next day, depending on the magazine editors’ moods, they’ll decide how to spin it. Either Harry and Zayn are about to get married, engaged and happy, or Harry’s still a fuck up about to fuck up Zayn’s perfect life.  
  
It could honestly go either way.  
  
But Harry decides to forget everyone else, anyone not currently in his house, and kisses Zayn’s warm neck. Just once. Zayn leans into him, throws his arm around Harry’s shoulder and kisses his temple.

  
  
***

  
The first camera gets them six days later.  
  
It’s the first time they get together after the night at Harry’s house, which ended with a polite hug, one that was warm and all encompassing. It knocked the air out of both of them, as they stepped away, when Zayn gripped Harry’s fingers in his own for only a moment. Harry thought Zayn might kiss him, but he’s glad they decided to go slow. Every relationship or even casual dating, for Harry Styles, always seemed to go from zero to sixty in the time it takes to stumble into a club bathroom. This is definitely new, definitely preferred, so Harry waved Zayn’s BMW off with a wonky wave and red cheeks.  
  
Rehearsals have started at an empty sound stage in Studio City, the space George prefers to block in. Harry couldn’t contain his excitement every morning he walked in, his rolled up script clutched between his sweaty palms. He knew he had it, knew he had the words ingrained on the inside of his skull like cave paintings. But the blocking, moving and standing and gesturing with George, Michael Pena, and Margot Robbie, was nerve-wracking. They spent hours on that fourth day blocking a fight scene. Harry gets thrown into a wall and across a desk at one point, the stunt guys showing them all how it’s done, what it’ll look like when they’re on set with the full crew. Harry bit at his finger, nervous about pulling it off on shoot day, until George actually gripped his shoulder and made him feel better. He cracked a joke that all young actors need at least one concussion on their first big movie set. It’s “initiation.”  
  
Harry knows he’s busy with everything, just as Zayn is, who just broke ground on a new project with a team of developers in from Germany. In between scenes, Harry checked his phone religiously, to see if Zayn had texted in between his own meetings. They kept up a string of conversation ever since Zayn texted Harry the night of their date with, “I got home safe, sleep well H.” It almost made Harry weep for joy.  
  
But it’s their first meet up since then, at a restaurant over on the west side. Harry felt it only fair, to make it equidistant from their individual houses, even though Zayn said it was unnecessary since he had a car service dropping him off.  
  
Harry’s relieved to see there aren’t cameras around; Seth didn’t make any calls because he promised he wouldn’t. No one watches them get a table or properly greet each other over a bottle of merlot. They sit so close in that booth, their knees knocking, Zayn’s eyelashes fluttering against Harry’s cheek every time he leans in to laugh.  
  
Harry loves how Zayn laughs. Sometimes when he gets especially giddy over something, he’ll bring a hand up, not to cover his mouth, but to rub at his nose, or scratch his eyebrow, or press a thumbnail to his lip. It’s like Zayn’s arms can’t sit still when Harry tells a joke. Harry wants to do it too, wants to touch Zayn’s face when he laughs, so at one point, he does.  
  
Zayn laughs at Harry’s recollection of the time he got caught sneaking a joint into his “Growing” dressing room. Their 3rd AD smelled the smoke and chased him across the Sony lot to Stage 24, right into Louis Tomlinson’s outstretched arms, from true pride at Harry being a menace. Zayn had never been on a set before, didn’t know how hard the 3rd AD job was, and that’s without stupid assholes like Harry making it worse. But Harry’s a great storyteller and makes it sound sweet instead of annoying. He brings his hand up to Zayn’s face as he laughs harder, to touch the line near his mouth before Zayn can.  
  
Zayn wrinkles his nose at it, tries to shake Harry away, but he laughs harder and leans in instead. Harry wants to kiss him so badly, he aches with it. He wants to kiss the laugh right out of Zayn’s mouth.  
  
They realize it then, that they both want to, when Harry feels Zayn’s palm on his upper thigh.  
  
“Later,” Zayn says around the end of his laughter. “So many people here.”  
  
Harry wipes at his eyes and smiles, squeezing Zayn’s hand between both of his, thanking him for the reminder. Harry almost weeps from joy then, too.  
  
They’ve been so loud, their laughter and harmless teasing, filling up the entire room. They’re too enveloped and entranced to notice the three camera phones, from all angles of the restaurant, pointed in their direction.

  
  
***

  
Holy shit? Harry Styles ona date in this restaurant, so fucking cute  pic.twitter.com/7738322  
_\- M Cahill (@startsw_us) 9:20 pm – June 20, 2017_  
  
@tmz I’m in the same restaurant as Harry Styles and that hot guy he’s been dating, they’re still eating  pic.twitter.com/9300514  
_\- THANKS FOR NOTICING! (@ksandy882) 9:43 pm – June 20, 2017_  
  
Okay @Harry_Styles you and your boyfriend are so sweet, I can’t handle it.  pic.twitter.com/5538122  
_\- queenEl (@cue_e_2) 9:47 pm – June 20, 2017_

  
  
***

  
  
There are cameras everywhere outside when they exit the restaurant.  
  
Harry can’t say he’s surprised. Even without Seth’s help, he knows word travels, especially in a restaurant full of people who know his face. The hostess may have a kick back deal, may have called them herself, once she clicked her gum and sat them in their booth. Harry’s stupid, he should’ve preemptively asked her not to. Sometimes people respond easiest and best just to a sincere, polite request not to sell him out. He has that kind of face, apparently, so it's worked before.  
  
He catches Zayn’s expression at one point, when he glances over towards the front tables. Harry follows his gaze and sees three young women on their phones, typing furiously.  
  
They’re either telling their friends or putting it on social media, either of which might as well be a smoke signal to the vultures Harry can now name by agency or entertainment news site.  
  
“They might be outside,” Harry warns Zayn as they stand up to put on their jackets.  
  
“Fuck ‘em,” Zayn shrugs.  
  
So that’s how they walk out, with those words behind their eyes, as the flashes go off one after the other. The _snap snap snap_ follows them down the sidewalk to Harry’s car in the adjoining parking lot. He didn’t think it necessary for Preston to come along, but as the old men in fake leather jackets press in closer, one hitting Zayn’s shoulder, Harry starts to panic.  
  
“Back up guys, come on,” Harry groans, like he’s annoyed instead of nervous.  
  
Zayn winces, his eyes screw up from the blinding lights, as Harry grips his forearm and pulls him along.  
  
“Harry, who’s your friend?”  
  
“Give us a quote, man. Just one, just say hi to Celeb TV?”  
  
“Are you guys dating? How long? Harry, how long?”  
  
_Snap snap snap._  
  
“Harry,” Zayn says quietly, pressing into Harry’s back. “Are we almost there?”  
  
Harry doesn’t answer, doesn’t want his voice used in a sound bite on "Extra" or "Access Hollywood" tomorrow. He purses his lips and shoves at the videographer walking backwards only two steps ahead of them. He’s from one of the sleazier agencies, the ones who got in trouble for shooting celeb kids at their schools and playgrounds. He used to chomp his gum with a smile, whenever Harry stumbled out of 1OAK with Liam. Maybe they’re friends.  
  
“Are you going back to your house, Harry? Long night ahead?”  
  
“Tell us your name, just say your name!”  
  
“What’s your name?”  
  
“Are you together?”  
  
“One bite, Harry. Just do us one, and we’ll back off!”  
  
Harry hates to separate even for the few seconds it takes each of them to get into the car. He hates to let Zayn go, but he does reluctantly and whispers for him to hurry. Zayn nods furiously, his face pale, as he scrambles around the car to the passenger side.  
  
It’s like they’re in a vacuum, the second they each slam their doors. The car is blissfully quiet, a destination vacation, a day spa. Harry pushes the hair from his eyes and looks to Zayn, to apologize.  
  
But Zayn just shakes his head, to rid the sensation. He psyches himself up before he turns to Harry and smiles, like they just got off a particularly rough roller coaster.  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Zayn says straightaway, nodding. “Don’t worry, babe.”  
  
“It’s…” Harry waves a hand, at the group of creepy men practically crawling up the hood of his black Mercedes. They’re waiting; they won’t get away from the car until Harry turns it on and peels out. They won’t turn their cameras or their flashes away, they might get someone to read their lips on the morning news, a body language expert to pick it apart.  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
“They’re… they’re going to say so many things now, Zayn. They’re going to paint a pretty picture, or an ugly one. They’re going to write a story, make this into a narrative, however they damn well please. Are you… are we still going to do this?”  
  
Zayn leans over, pulls Harry by the shoulder, and gets right up to his ear so no can see. Harry knows then, as Zayn tries to preserve the moment just for them, that Zayn can handle it. Zayn won’t be weird with the cameras; he won’t be like Liam who mugged for them, asked for it, savored the attention. Zayn’s in it for Harry then, Harry knows. He doesn’t love the cameras, but he’s not running from them either. Harry’s stomach suddenly roars with butterflies.  
  
Zayn nods against his shoulder, a little.  
  
“I don’t care about this shit, Harry. I swear. This is a shitty by-product of your job. It happens. So I should warn you, that for me, I get a pissy attitude when I fuck up public speaking in a big meeting. You’ll just have to deal with me on those days. Deal?”  
  
Harry smiles as he turns on the car, revving the engine, to get the men away from the hood.  
  
Zayn leans back and closes his eyes, to block out the lights, as the wheels scorch the concrete.

  
  
***

  
Their first kiss is on Zayn’s doorstep. No one’s around, no one sees, it’s not captured on any recording device. No one tweets, no one asks or pesters or whistles at them.  
  
Zayn pulls Harry against him, hands on his biceps, and kisses the very life out of him. Harry hears himself gasp slightly, when their tongues touch. Zayn doesn’t waste any time, doesn’t ask permission or wonder what it means. He doesn’t do it dirty like Liam or any of those club girls used to. He kisses Harry like he’s been wanting to since the second they first shook hands not even a month ago.  
  
Harry’s awkward feet knock into Zayn’s when he presses closer. He wants Zayn to feel him, all of him, from mouth to toe. He wants Zayn to feel how hard he’s getting, so Zayn knows. Zayn needs to know what he does, how he makes Harry want so many things.  
  
Zayn presses against him, returns the sentiment, and Harry bites his lip. Zayn tugs on Harry’s hair with one hand, brings it up as they lean fully against Zayn’s house.  
  
They make out like teenagers for ages.

  
  
***

  
**From:** Seth Gould,  <sethg@RJred-management.com>  
**To:** H Edward,  <hedward@me.com>  
  
**Subject:** ????  
June 21, 2017 - 2:11 AM PST  
  
They want a name, H. They want to know who he is and what’s going on…. What do you want us to do?  
  
And why the hell wasn’t Preston with you? PLEASE take him next time.  
  
S  
  
  
  
_**Seth Gould**_  
_**Senior Talent Manager, RJ Red Management**_

  
  
  
***

  
**From:** H Edward,  <hedward@me.com>  
**To:** Seth Gould,  <sethg@RJred-management.com>  
  
**Subject:** RE: ????  
June 21, 2017 - 9:10 AM PST  
  
We have no comment. I’ll figure it out. I’ll do it somehow, don’t answer anything.  
  
Sorryyyy, I’ll ask Preston next time. Promise. :)

  
  
***

  
The next two weeks seem to fly by. Harry gets completely immersed in rehearsals. He has fittings almost every other day with the costume designer; he has to record a few voicemails to be used in certain scenes towards the end of the movie, in the ADR building on the Sony lot, which is a trip down memory lane. They also set the official schedule for the Vegas portion of the shoot for August, a place Harry hasn’t been in years.  
  
He has an interview with Entertainment Weekly, strictly about the movie and his career. Harry’s pleasantly surprised to see that the write up is favorable. EW never ribbed him too much, even when they did think pieces about his inevitable demise. They always seemed to root for him somehow, and the interviewer was really very nice. Tim from BuzzFeed wants to do another sit-down, which Harry wholeheartedly agrees to even if Seth thinks it seems redundant. Harry likes Tim.  
  
Zayn comes to the house every other night for dinner, much to Preston’s excitement, all the nights he has off duty now. Harry ends up pinning Zayn against the fridge more often than not, to lick into his mouth and palm at his dick through his jeans. They haven’t done anything more than make out, which Zayn admits first, is something he hasn’t done in years. Apparently he too lets himself get too heavy too fast, a cock in his ass before he can ask if it’s really worth the hassle.  
  
Harry’s eyes darken whenever Zayn says something like that, something especially filthy and honest all at once. Zayn winks and kisses him harder, the tease.  
  
They get caught by paps twice. The first time is nothing. They stop by Gelson’s to pick up pasta and chicken for some dish Zayn swore he could make. Harry didn’t realize anyone followed them in. He had asked Preston to wait in the car. But he got a Google alert the next morning from Just Jared, with a set of photos of him and Zayn in the freezer aisle playfully bickering over which ice cream to buy. Harry had to bite his lip as he scrolled through them, the expression on Zayn’s face shameless and loving and sweet, Harry’s matching him in every frame.  
  
The second time is something. They get coffee in Santa Monica the Sunday before shooting, before Zayn has to drive to San Diego for four days full of meetings. They had just spent the 4th of July watching fireworks across the city the night before, from the hill overlooking the valley. There was a huge group of strangers there, all too busy watching the bursts of color down below, to notice Zayn biting at Harry’s neck. It was perfect. They got so close, practically on top of each other, when it was anonymous.  
  
So they make sure to keep their distance as they sit on the outdoor Starbucks patio, only touching briefly, once Harry spots the camera across the street. Zayn, the tease, kisses Harry on the cheek as they start to leave, with a promise that the next time they see each other, there will be more.  
  
“Really?” Harry wiggles his eyebrows.  
  
“Yeah, I figure we’ve blue-balled ourselves enough,” Zayn pushes at him.  
  
Harry tosses his keys from one hand to the other once they’re in the parking lot, his face suddenly serious. He wishes he could reach out and hold Zayn’s waist, to apply pressure to settle something in his gut. He wants Zayn to tuck his hair behind his ear, the gesture that makes his knees weak.  
  
“You okay?” Zayn pushes his sunglasses back up his nose. It’s another hot day, they’re both flushed and sweaty in their tank tops and shorts.  
  
“Well,” Harry tosses his keys again. “I just…”  
  
“Say it,” Zayn gets serious too. He almost gets angry, like Harry’s about to tell him something he doesn’t want to hear. Like he's about to get bad news.  
  
Harry takes a deep breath.  
  
“I have that interview tomorrow,” Harry looks up at Zayn’s closed off face. “That BuzzFeed guy. And… I have that event for the Wildlife Center afterwards.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“I… I want to talk about you, Zayn. I want to say so many things. I want to fucking scream from a roof about you. I don’t want anyone in our business, you know that. But I want to touch you. Right now. I want… I just…”  
  
“Harry,” Zayn smiles, relieved. “Come here.”  
  
Harry doesn’t need to be told twice, as he stumbles the few steps to Zayn against his car. He buries his face into Zayn’s neck and inhales like he hasn’t been able to in ages it seems. They’re out in the open, in the sunlight, with a camera across the street. Zayn runs his nails up and down Harry’s back, keeps him so close, and breathes in.  
  
“I don’t want to date anyone else,” Zayn admits into Harry’s hair.  
  
“Me either.”  
  
“So then we won’t. And you can talk about me all you want. If I can do the same.”  
  
“If you’re not embarrassed, then sure,” Harry chuckles into Zayn’s skin.  
  
“I would never be embarrassed by you, shut up.”  
  
“Yes sir.”  
  
Zayn laughs big and bright as he leans back. He grabs Harry’s face and kisses him roughly, their sunglasses bumping together noisily. The guy across the street has his shot.  
  
“You know what’s crazy?” Harry says against Zayn’s lips, all slick and sweet from the vanilla latte Zayn had.  
  
“Hmmm?” Zayn murmurs into it, biting at him.  
  
“We probably just paid that guy’s mortgage for the year,” Harry thumbs at the stranger over his shoulder.  
  
Zayn just rolls his eyes and pulls him into another goodbye hug. They stay like that for another five minutes, now that they can.

  
  
***

  
Hope that good-looking gent @zaynmalik made it to San Diego in one piece. He’s a warrior on the road alright. H xx  
_\- Harry Styles. (@Harry_Styles) 3:30 pm - July 5, 2017_  
  
@Harry_Styles says the guy who almost drove off a cliff when a firework went off too close. I made it tho, all good babe ;)  
_\- zayn malik (@zaynmalik) 4:17 pm - July 5, 2017_

  
  
***

  
**New Couple Alert! Harry Styles Gushes About Boyfriend Zayn Malik**  
_ETonline.com | by Rosalyn Swisher, 8:30 PM PDT, July 6, 2017_  
  
_Like us on Facebook | Follow us on Twitter | Pin It | Stumble Upon_  
  
Harry Styles is off the market.  
  
The 22-year-old actor has a boyfriend, web designer Zayn Malik, 24, and, far from keeping it a secret any longer, he is more than proud to spill the beans.  
  
Both Styles and Malik tweeted yesterday, right after pictures hit the web of them kissing in a parking lot in LA, calling each other “good looking” and “babe.” It’s been reported for weeks that Styles was seeing this mystery man, and now it’s official.  
  
These photos were taken at the California Wildlife Benefit in Brentwood tonight, an organization Styles has supported since the spring. ET dished with Styles thereabout his new relationship.  
  
“I’m a little bummed my boyfriend couldn’t join me tonight,” he told ET. “He has work out of town, so I’ll just have to send him a bunch of pictures. He also supports the Wildlife Center. Very good person, that guy. Much better than me.”  
  
Is that so?  
  
“I heard a noise behind my house just last week, convinced a serial killer had gotten loose. Zayn practically ran outside to check, to rescue a stray cat. He’s a huge animal lover. And hey, even if it was a serial killer, he probably would’ve given the guy some coffee to talk him out of killing us, so. Very nice guy, very good at the advice, too.”  
  
The notoriously cheeky actor then gave all our crew firm handshakes and a promise to introduce us to Zayn next time.  
  
Sounds like these two should have a reality show. Do you agree? Let us know at #ETnow with your vote.

  
  
***

  
_**Zayn Malik 10:11 PM:** Good luck tomorrow, babe. You’re gonna kill it._  
  
_**Harry 10:12 PM:** I’m shitting myself._  
  
_**Zayn Malik 10:12 PM:** It’ll be great. You’re so prepared, you’re ready. You did it, babe. You’re doing it. No stress._  
  
_**Harry 10:13 PM:** I wish you were here._  
  
_**Zayn Malik 10:13 PM:** I’ll be there in a few days._  
  
_**Harry 10:14 PM:** I want to blow you in my trailer._  
  
_**Zayn Malik 10:14 PM:** Jesus._  
  
_**Harry 10:14 PM:** You wanna send dirty pictures? ;)_  
  
_**Zayn Malik 10:14 PM:** Oh please. Dream on._  
  
_**Harry 10:15 PM:** Fine, I will. I’ll dream hard. Real hard, babe. So many dreams._  
  
_**Harry 10:21 PM:** :)_  
  
_**Harry 10:24 PM:** Hello?_  
  
_**Zayn 10:25 PM:** Alright Hollywood, go to sleep :)_

  
  
***

  
**Messy Actor Reforms (Not)**  
_Blind Gossip - July 8, 2017 - 286 comments_  
  
Which newly-“reformed” actor was such a coked up mess for his first day on a new movie set, the producers had to already pull him aside for a meeting? The former child star raised the hair of every exec on set, as he shoved his female costar away when she tried to tell him to get ready for their first scene. Even more telling was his bodyguard standing outside his dressing room immediately after, as he “took a quick nap.” The crew was advised not to enter his room for any reason.  
  
Adds our source, "If anyone thought this kid could be serious, after so many years off the deep end, they sure had a surprise. He even had the nerve to return to set with a mysterious white powder on his suit jacket. Execs are livid."  
  
Actor:

  
  
***

  
Harry pulls at the lapels of his suit and looks himself up and down in the floor length dressing room mirror. These mirrors always distort him, he’s sworn it since he was sixteen, but the wardrobe girls say he’s crazy. It’s a gorgeous suit, perfectly tailored, just the right amount of ass.  
  
Caroline, Alfonso, and their assistants just dropped off the next day’s wardrobe, pressed and in the closet of the white trailer Harry has to himself. He has to do a few pick ups in this suit to finish the day, for the first argument scene, the one where George hits him across the face. It’s a rush and Harry told him to really go for it, to really fuck him up, to get him angry enough so he can effectively fight back. So Harry can lose himself.  
  
The lights of the makeup station make him look pale, he realizes. He remembers the first time he wandered the Warner Brothers lot, back when he was young and dumb, and couldn’t imagine having a whole Star Waggon to himself, with his own makeup chair. The trailers looked massive, all of them in a line next to certain sound stages for the biggest actors on the planet.  
  
Harry’s been in the business long enough to not get excited by certain aspects of the job, so he’d never admit out loud that he loves his trailer, but he does.  
  
He hears the door creak open and footsteps hop up the rickety metal steps. It’s probably Hoffman, the 3rd AD Harry swears he won’t annoy even once.  
  
“Hello, Hoffa,” Harry pulls at his hair to settle it. The hair team will kill him if he fucks it up again. “How long?”  
  
“Is that my new nickname?”  
  
Harry stumbles out of the makeup room towards the main sitting area of his trailer, he’s so startled.  
  
“You’re here,” he points at Zayn, who only smiles and tosses a bag to the couch.  
  
“I am.”  
  
“I thought you weren’t here until tomorrow.”  
  
“I came back early.”  
  
“You’re here.”  
  
“Is that all you have to say?” Zayn quirks a perfect eyebrow. He’s casual today, Harry’s favorite kind of Zayn, when he’s out of his work shirts and black dress pants, when he’s soft and young, instead of upright and mature.  
  
Harry shoves him to the couch and leaps into his lap, kissing across his cheeks and mouth with a vengeance, praying he doesn’t wrinkle his suit too much.  
  
Zayn laughs into it and grabs at his hips so Harry can’t topple over.  
  
“Babe, relax,” Zayn muffles against Harry’s insistent mouth. “Preston says you have five minutes.”  
  
“Preston needs to shut his mouth,” Harry bites Zayn’s ear, wet and sloppy, so Zayn can smell like his saliva. It’s gross, but Harry loves the smell of his mouth on Zayn’s skin, that tartness he leaves behind from all the mints he eats.  
  
“Shit,” Zayn exhales, as Harry sucks his way down his jaw.  
  
“Missed you.”  
  
“I missed you, too.”  
  
“Wanna blow you.”  
  
“You have to work!” Zayn shoves at him playfully.  
  
“After, then.”  
  
“That is perfectly fine by me,” Zayn huffs, to kiss Harry fully on the mouth.  
  
The knock on the door, the _rap rap_ of Preston’s knuckles brings them back, unfortunately. Zayn pretends to violently beat his forehead against Harry’s chest, frustrated, which cracks Harry up. The separate so Harry can put his shoes on and look himself over again.  
  
Harry tells Zayn how important the next few days are, how the scenes are integral to the first half of the film. Zayn listens rapturously, like he always does, when Harry gets into the zone, when he talks about Andrew. Harry just loves Andrew, this man he’s been chosen to portray, this character who’s never existed until Harry speaks his dialogue. Harry loves bringing someone to life, loves to pretend he’s different. He gets to play dress-up every single day.  
  
Just then, Hoffman knocks and sticks his head in the door. He’s already Harry’s favorite crew guy, scruffy and stocky, in his show-blacks and Nikes. Harry tried to tease him that morning by taking out his earpiece to the lifeline of any crew guy, which is his walkie. Harry almost got smacked upside the head for it.  
  
They already have a rapport, something Harry deigns most important whenever he steps onto a set, to bond with his AD.  
  
“H, two minute warning,” he juts a chin, his grey hair flying around his ears.  
  
“Hoffa, this is Zayn Malik,” Harry gestures to the couch where Zayn sits, his hands crossed, looking around the fancy trailer. “My boyfriend.”  
  
“What’s up, man,” Hoffman nods.  
  
“Hello,” Zayn nods, polite as ever, smiling over at Harry for the “boyfriend” of it.  
  
“You need anything at all, you ask me or Mitch. He’s Harry’s personal PA,” Hoffman says as he pulls another man’s head into the trailer, who waves nervously. “He can do runs, if you need food or anything, any errands.”  
  
“Anything I can do,” Mitch nods. He’s so young, probably only eighteen, all wide-eyed and sweet looking, his voice a little too high. He’s cute, complacent, blonde, baby-faced. “Anything you need, Mr. Malik.”  
  
Mitch stops looking at him though, to look to Harry. He’s definitely a PA, eager to please, waiting to see if he did good by Harry, his boss. His eyes flick back to Zayn, waiting for an instruction, an order, a request for anything at all.  
  
“No,” Zayn shakes his head, confused. “I don’t…”  
  
“Two minutes,” Hoffman cuts them off, before clicking the door shut.  
  
Harry grabs his sides for the day, the few pages of script they’ve changed slightly for the crew, and pops in a mint. He has to yell in George’s face in the next scene.  
  
“I don’t need anything, you know,” Zayn stands up, to wind his hands around Harry’s waist, concerned. “I have my own assistant at the office, I wouldn’t ask for anything here. Don’t let them worry about me.”  
  
“I know, babe,” Harry turns in his arms. “But you’re my personal guest. And I told them, first day of shooting, that you’d be by some days. It’s just their job, to make sure you know. That they’re there.”  
  
“But – ”  
  
“Come to set with me, I want to introduce you to people,” Harry grins, dipping back in for a kiss.  
  
“People?” Zayn squawks.  
  
Harry just winks and grabs his hand. Five minutes later, Zayn can’t wipe the amazed expression off his face as George fucking Clooney claps his shoulder and asks about his newest app.

  
  
***

  
Harry ruins the first take of the first pick up scene, when he accidentally glances over towards video village. He had Zayn sit in his director’s chair near the monitors, to watch him work, and now he’s regretting it. Harry sees Zayn rubbing at his jeans, awkwardly sitting alone, eyes bouncing around to the massive set and crew the size of a football team. One of the other actors, Melissa winks at Harry from across the set as the crew resets, like she knows he’s nervous. So he nods to get his head right.  
  
It’s just that he knows, now more than ever, that this is something. Zayn’s here, on his movie set, the movie set he’s been nothing but professional on, and it’s real. They’ve only been out in the press for a few days, it’s hardly anything serious, and yet In Touch says they’re engaged. Seth sent him a link from a British tabloid that said Zayn was “spotted” looking at rings, even though they got the city wrong, no one knows Zayn well enough to spot him anywhere, and the quote they had from an insider was clearly just an intern’s name.  
  
But it’s gaining traction, the narrative Harry called from the start. He’s been good, the bullshit Blind Items and random mean-spirited tweets have been silenced in favor of his new love story. They haven’t spun it as negative or gross, they’ve decided Harry is happy and healthy. They’ve started using better pictures of him on front pages and news blurbs, instead of ones where he’s drunk, falling out of clubs from before. Harry’s a “sweet kid” again, George Clooney’s “favorite new co-star,” with “nothing but positivity ahead of him.”  
  
A PA scurries over to him with a bottle of water, which he graciously takes a sip from, as everyone gets back in place. He can’t fuck it up again, he doesn’t want the crew to reset from his own stupid mistake.  
  
“Can someone do me a favor?” Harry says quietly, so his hidden mic can pick it up.  
  
Nia the first AD walks over, pulls at the headphones covering her ears, with a concerned eye.  
  
“Hey I’m sorry. Uh, can you have someone bring Preston to set? Like, can you have him sit with Zayn, please?”  
  
“Okay…” she backs away. “Sure, bud.”  
  
It’s better after that, when Harry can be assured that Zayn has someone to sit with. He can focus now that he knows Zayn can be comfortable and beautiful and perfect. He’s suddenly excited, to show Zayn what he can do. He’s excited for a lot of things, right about then. He wants to introduce Zayn to Seth, and Louis eventually when he’s back in town. Maybe they can take a trip together after the movie wraps. Maybe they can hole up in Harry’s house for a few weeks. Maybe they’ll get a dog.  
  
Harry needs to focus. He shakes his head with a laugh.  
  
He jumps up and down a few times, gets the blood rushing to his extremities, and then he’s Andrew.  
  
He’s angry, so fucking angry with his father, ready to fuck him up. He can’t wait to see that fucker’s face, the man who was supposed to take care of him, who instead double-crossed him. He’s Andrew Andrew Andrew.  
  
“Picture’s up!” Nia bellows.  
  
Andrew Andrew Andrew. _Fuck you, fuck all of you, fuck this company._  
  
“Roll sound.”  
  
“Speed.”  
  
Andrew Andrew Andrew. _You were supposed to take care of me. You’re my dad; you’re supposed to be in my corner, not the enemy. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you._  
  
“Roll cameras.”  
  
“Mark.”  
  
Andrew Andrew Andrew. _Fuck you, fuck what you did, fuck you fuck you fuck you._  
  
Harry waits, closes his eyes for a beat, as they clap the slate board. He’s Andrew.  
  
“Whenever you’re ready,” Stephen calls out, his personal version of _action_.  
  
Harry’s eyes fly open.  
  
“Do you have something to say to me?” he hears to his right, George the perfect Clay Daugherty to Harry’s Andrew. “Did you fucking hear me?”  
  
Harry turns to him, tears in his eyes, face red, ready. George walks through the door, returning to their office, the place he built and was supposed to pass on to his son, before he ruined everything. He stares at his son, the baby he held in his arms the day he was born, and narrows his eyes.  
  
Harry levels back, steps closer, his hands shaking.  
  
“I hope you fucking burn for this,” Harry’s voice slices through the air, like a sword or a knife, deep, gutting.  
  
George launches at him, his hand in a fist.

  
  
***

  
Amazed. Completely and utterly amazed. Just… magnetic.  
_\- zayn malik (@zaynmalik) 2:38 pm - July 9, 2017_

  
  
***

  
Zayn has Harry by the hair when they get back to the trailer. He pulls and pulls, messes it right up, since Harry’s wrapped for the day and doesn’t have to worry about being put back together for cameras.  
  
He pants against Harry’s mouth, searching, tasting the air around them with his tongue, before pressing into Harry further.  
  
“You’re… you were…” Zayn babbles, as he shoves Harry’s nice suit jacket off.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Harry pushes Zayn to the couch, removes his hands with a sorry expression. He can’t fuck up the buttons; Caroline will murder him and carry his head around on a stick. So Harry very carefully undoes his shirt, slowly, peels it off so it won’t rip. He swears it’s just to protect the fabric, as he slowly undoes his pants, the button and the zipper on the Italian suit too precious to bust open. Zayn’s eyes go dark, his face twists like a maniac as he watches Harry take Andrew off.  
  
“Babe,” Zayn exhales, antsy.  
  
“Can I blow you?” Harry steps out of his pants and sets them on the opposite couch in the trailer, like he’s asking permission.  
  
Zayn nods.  
  
Harry sinks to his knees, in just his black briefs and nice socks, to get at Zayn’s jeans. Zayn just watches, lays his arms across the back of the couch with his head cocked to the side. He only moves to lift his ass, to get his jeans and boxers to his knees.  
  
Harry runs his nails up and down Zayn’s bare thighs through the rough, black hair so he can take a second to look. Zayn’s cock is fucking beautiful, cut and thick, already slick against his stomach.  
  
“Want you to come in my mouth,” Harry says slowly.  
  
Zayn nods just as slow.  
  
Harry sucks him down first, wants to be completely filled up, to gag on it, before he gets to work. Harry’s such a hard worker, always has been. When he allows himself, he’s focused, one-track minded, dead set on the goal. He’s a project manager, a foreman, the captain of every ship in Marina del Rey in that moment. He uses both hands, first his right, to pump Zayn up into his mouth, then his left, to slick his saliva down to the base. Zayn pants through it, grips the couch, ab muscles dancing from exertion.  
  
Harry groans into it, when Zayn tests the waters and shifts his hips up. Harry wants him to; he tries to nod, so Zayn does it again faster. He snaps his hips up as Harry grips him in his right hand again, his eyes shut.  
  
“Fuck,” Zayn grunts, closer now. “Fuck, Harry.”  
  
It’s frenzied then, when Harry sinks lower and pulls back up. He bobs his head, suctions his cheeks, and holds onto Zayn’s hips with both hands.  
  
Zayn comes with a shudder, sharp and shrill, his hands finally removed from the couch and in Harry’s hair. He huffs breath after breath, through his nose, then his mouth, over and over, as Harry milks it out of him. Harry swallows around the head, over and over, wants all of it. He wants to feel Zayn shudder again, so he constrictions his vocal chords like he’s about to whistle. Zayn groans and his head falls back to the couch, sensitive and spent.  
  
Harry sits up and pants through it with a smile. Zayn doesn’t move his head, or open his eyes, but he lazily brings a hand to Harry’s face to cup his cheek, his thumb on Harry’s top lip.  
  
Harry lets him. He breathes against Zayn’s thumb, his breath hot, because he understands it. He still finds himself wanting to touch Zayn’s face all the time. Zayn must need it sometimes, too.

  
  
***

  
A group of about twelve girls have congregated outside the gate of the studio, with old pictures of Harry clutched in their hands. They’re all in combat boots and oversized flannels, the 90s throwback looks still clinging to their small frames with a vengeance.  
  
Preston warns them, when they finally emerge from Harry’s trailer past dusk, with pink cheeks. Zayn returned the favor and blew Harry to the fucking sun and back. Harry’s knees feel a little weak, from the day full of crying and screaming on set, and then from Zayn’s godforsaken mouth.  
  
Harry’s about to ask Zayn what he wants to do, if he wants to join him to say hello to the girls, but Zayn’s already grabbed his hand and pulls him away from the trailer. Preston follows along as they head to the security gate lined with high walls and meticulously pruned shrubs.  
  
The shrieking reaches them first, before they even get close enough to say anything, as the girls jump and down to see Harry. He’s reminded again, how long it’s been since girls have lined up for him. They used to hang out by the “Growing” set, near the houses in Burbank where they shot exterior scenes, tweeting girls across the world about Harry and his costars.  
  
Harry can’t help but love it, now that he has a good reason to have fanfare once more, now that he’s good again.  
  
“Hey babe,” he smiles to the first girl outside the gate. She doesn’t say much, just wipes at her face with wide eyes, and hands him a picture to sign. “You okay?”  
  
“Harry, how’s your movie?”  
  
“Harry, can you say hi to my sister? She’s seven, she’s so cute, she loves you.”  
  
“Oh my God, is that Zayn?”  
  
Harry smiles over his shoulder, where Zayn tries to blend in next to Preston’s beefy crossed arms.  
  
“He’s so hot, oh my God, Harry.”  
  
“Harry, are you in love?”  
  
Harry signs each picture, gives a few messages into phones, laughs when they all chorus his name with random questions. Since the group has stayed relatively small, Harry takes an individual picture with each of them, fingers up in a peace sign for most.  
  
“Thanks, love,” he begins to wave and step away. “Gotta run.”  
  
“Harry, please,” the smallest and loudest grabs his forearm, the clear leader of the group. Her long nails almost pierce his skin, his face falls from pain, as Preston steps up behind him.  
  
“Time’s up, girls,” Preston nods, about to pull Harry away.  
  
“No, no, Harry please,” she tries again, still friendly even in her rushed coercion. “Can we do like a big group picture? Then be done?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” he nods.  
  
“Can Zayn be in it?”  
  
“Please, Harry? You and Zayn? And all of us?”  
  
“Please, Harry, please?”  
  
Zayn, still tucked behind Preston to be out of the way, suddenly appears behind Preston’s massive back with a look of panic. Harry almost laughs at the comedy of it, Zayn’s beautiful face entirely freaked out at being noticed and called upon.  
  
“Well let’s ask him. You wanna be in it, babe?” Harry calls over his shoulder with a laugh. The girls absolutely lose their shit, jumping up and down, squealing with their iPhones clutched in their hands.  
  
It’s another chorus of _holy shits_ and _oh my Gods_ as Zayn timidly steps around Preston with his hands clasped together.  
  
“Zayn, do you love Harry?”  
  
“Harry, are you and Zayn in love?”  
  
“Can I get a picture with just you, Zayn?”  
  
Preston takes it upon himself to save the situation, by grabbing for a few phones so Zayn doesn’t have to speak, a quick succession of clicks. The girls crowd together, around Harry and Zayn both, holding on. Zayn, still bewildered, glances at Harry as a girl completely wraps herself around his torso and smiles bright.  
  
Harry finally gets them out of their clutches, with a few rushed _sorrys_ about having a meeting. He grabs Zayn’s hand and pulls him back through the gate towards the row of trailers, as Preston gives a wave to the security officers.  
  
They hear the girls excitedly celebrating and laughing, taking more pictures of their backs, at them holding hands.  
  
“Sorry?” Harry grimaces.  
  
“Don’t be sorry,” Zayn lifts their hands to kiss the back of Harry’s.  
  
That elicits more screams from near the gate, which sends Harry into hysterics. Zayn just blushes and pulls Harry along to walk faster, embarrassed.

  
  
***

  
Unfortunately, Harry focused too much on getting a job, to really give focus to the other root of his problems.  
  
That can happen, when a person has layers to their sadness, different levels within their personal issues. One part of someone’s life can suddenly be brighter, and the other parts start to feel like they’re brighter too, by proxy. It’s a wicked torment, a tricky game, when you’re someone like Harry Styles. As his mother used to say, Harry has trouble with “slippery slopes.”  
  
Harry could tell himself time and again that the reason he was unhappy was from lack of work. He could convince himself over and over that the way he lead his life without any reason or direction, was because the assholes at NBC canceled his show too quickly.  
  
Liam was welcomed in with open arms because Harry was bored, not because he was lonely. He drank himself stupid because the world was unfair, not because he had a bottomless pit of anger deep inside him.  
  
Harry kicked his parents to the curb, not the other way around.  
  
Harry wasn’t sad anymore, because he had a job. Harry wasn’t lonely, because he had Zayn.  
  
He wasn’t self-destructive, because he didn’t have a reason to be.  
  
He was okay.

  
  
***

  
Harry  & Zayn are so lovely, I can’t believe we met them. We were at Arclight in Hollywood, they walked past us. They held hands!!! pic.twitter.com/1548842  
_\- Sam Sheeeeet (@sammy00shem) 9:39 pm – July 18, 2017_  
  
Harry just took a picture with us, holy shit. Zayn didn’t want to, he blushed, omgomgomgomg, he called Harry HOLLYWOOD!  pic.twitter.com/9300514  
_\- HARRY STYLES IS MINE (@stylesarmsm1997) 8:13 am – July 19, 2017_  
  
I’m hosting the LIV party in Vegas this weekend… Maybe a certain someone who’s been texting me will show up…? Who knows.  
_\- Liam (@Real_Liam_Payne) 10:02 pm – July 20, 2017_  
  
@Real_Liam_Payne Oh my god, r u saying harry styles still texts you?! Doesn’t he have a boyfriend?!?!?!  
_\- Shayla Y (@yi_shay_OLL) 10:02 pm – July 20, 2017_  
  
@yi_shay_OLL ……..no comment ;)  
_\- Liam (@Real_Liam_Payne) 10:05 pm – July 20, 2017_

  
  
  
***

  
**From:** Anne Styles,  <Anne.Styles@gmail.com>  
**To:** H Edward,  <hedward@me.com>  
  
**Subject:** So proud of you, my love  
July 30, 2017 - 7:10 AM PST  
  
Harry,  
  
I hope you’re well. I really do, I’ve been thinking of you so much the last few weeks. I saw the news about the movie and tried so hard to let you be, but I had to say how proud we are. I know you said not to contact you, but I couldn’t help myself.  
  
Please don’t tell the lawyers. I really beg you not to.  
  
Dad and I are sitting on the porch, we’re having tea. Do you remember that tea we got in England, the kind your friend told us about? She was one of your favorite extras on the show, the one who had a British mom. Well, we were drinking it and talking, reminiscing of all the times we used to drive down Sunset when we first got to the city. You used to stick your head out the window like a puppy, do you remember? You did it all the time as a little boy, you were so sweet, you swore you were a little puppy.  
  
I just wish you could get beyond everything that happened, Harry. I think that kind of anger and vitriol, if it stays too long, it eats away at something inside a person. I don’t want you to be angry anymore. I think you just need to move past the way things happened. Dad and I have. We’ve forgiven ourselves. Don’t you want to try? Maybe just try and see how it feels?  
  
Please call us. I would love to hear your voice.  
  
And please don’t tell the lawyers. It’s just a mess we don’t need, don’t you think?  
  
Think about what I said? I bet if you did a few cleansing exercises, the kinds my friend Leslie Lawman used to teach, you’d feel much better.  
  
Talk soon, love.  
  
Mom

  
  
***

  
**BREAKING NEWS: Harry Styles a CHEATER!!!**  
_7/30/2017 7:30 PM PDT BY TMZ STAFF_  
  
It’s official: the Harry Styles we know and love is BACK, baby.  
  
After weeks of boring us to tears, doing nothing but driving to and from work at the studio lot in Hollywood and walk hand in hand with his new handsome boyfriend, Styles finally gives us something good.  
  
We’re told by a VERY close source that the “Repulsive Individuals” actor didn’t leave his on-set trailer all day today. The movie, in production since the beginning of the month, shoots here in town until August, when it moves to Las Vegas. He refused to work and set production back by at least two days. He refused to even let his bodyguard inside and could be heard screaming at him.  
  
We were also informed that he sent off for various bottles of liquor, boxes of which were eventually brought into his trailer by his hot blond PA. Our source said the sounds of moaning and groaning could be heard all the way to stage, across from the trailer itself. Harry Styles, the hot mess we all know and love, hot shot Hollywood Clooney movie or not, is a big ole’ cheater.  
  
But do you think we’d just go off of sounds from our source? Hardly.  
  
**WE HAVE PHOTOS!**  
  
CLICK  HERE FOR THE FULL GALLERY.  
  
As we previously reported… Styles and Zayn Malik have been dating since May. No word on if they’re still together after today’s events.

 

 

 

 

     


	3. Chapter 3

**So Who Exactly Is Zayn Malik? We Find Out.  
**_Glamour Magazine UK – posted 30 July 2017 by glamstaff_  
  
Sorry ladies and gents, it would appear that Harry Styles is well and truly smitten with his web designer boyfriend Zayn Malik.  
  
The “Growing” actor – who has previously dated DJ Liam Payne and singer Alex Margalit – is said to be “totally into” Zayn, who will be by his side for the next month in Las Vegas as he finishes up his newest movie.  
  
A source told _The Sun_ newspaper – so take this with a massive pinch of salt – “Everyone’s so happy for him, to have found someone so positive. It’s the real deal. He’s never felt this way about anyone before. He’s spent virtually all his free time with Zayn. They can’t stand being apart. There’s no one else he’d rather have by his side as he shoots this movie.”  
  
So there you have it, Hazza is in _lurve_.  
  
_**But who is Zayn Malik?**_  
  
**Well, he’s a businessman.**  
  
You can read all about Malik  here, to see that in only a few short years, the gorgeous Ivy-leaguer has sold two major apps to massive companies in the states and Europe. This past fall, Mco Inc. hired him exclusively, to run an entire team of developers and designers. He’s described as a “brain child with social consciousness and a great head on his shoulders.”  
  
So he’s beautiful and a genius? *applies to Harvard*  
  
**He loves animals.**  
  
Harry told reporters at the beginning of the month that his new boyfriend was a big animal lover. We did some digging and found that not only has he donated to various animal rescues in his home state of California, but he’s also taken trips to South America and Africa, to various animal conservatories. His take-home pay for the last year hasn’t been divulged (not that we haven’t tried to look into it) but a source told us he donates massive amounts of money to animal charities. He tweeted back in January, with a photo: “Found a dog lost at the park. Anyone missing  this little guy? Should make some signs for the neighborhood.”  
  
Swoon.  
  
**He adores his family.**  
  
Before he was first spotted with Harry in March, and then again months later, Zayn Malik was relatively unknown. Other than on the tech circuit, where a few articles popped up after his business deals went smashingly, he’s been quite the mystery.  
  
But we looked through his social media accounts for clues, to check him out before he met Harry, and he tweets about his sisters constantly. He never tagged them so we don’t know their full names, but they look just as gorgeous as he does, judging by his Instagram!  
  
Harry’s expressed over the last few years how lonely he’s been. Maybe with a hot boy on his arm and a strong family behind him, he’ll have someone to spend the holidays with!  
  
**Of course, he’s fit.**  
  
He hasn’t posted a selfie in ages, and Harry’s never shown Zayn’s face on any of his social media accounts. But by perusing paparazzi shots and grainy fan photos on Twitter, anyone with clear eyesight knows he’s model material.  
  
Maybe he should think about becoming a cover star himself. May we suggest GQ or Vogue shoots? Perhaps shirtless, with Harry Styles by his side? We’ll be over here fanning ourselves.  
  
He’s basically perfect. Well done, Harry. You can follow Zayn on Instagram  here.  
  
  
  
**UPDATE: Harry Styles Still On Lock Down**  
_7/30/2017 9:15 PM PDT BY TMZ STAFF_  
  
As we reported only a few hours ago, Harry Styles has locked himself in his trailer on the set of “Repulsive Individuals.” And by the looks of it, the stand off doesn’t seem to be ending any time soon.  
  
Cameras and journalists have swarmed the Paramount fences, where his trailer can be seen from the main gate. Fans have also come to watch, to see when he’ll eventually step out of the trailer. Styles’ bodyguard has been trying for hours to get him to come out, knocking and allegedly phoning him from just outside the door. But no dice, he won’t budge.  
  
We have photos of a PA bringing boxes of liquor inside and exiting the trailer with messed up hair over an hour later. Our source heard pretty raunchy sounds coming from inside.  
  
No word if boyfriend Zayn Malik has seen them, or if they’re still together. He has not been seen today on set or near the trailer. We have a photographer outside his house in Long Beach, but we haven’t seen him coming or going.  
  
We also haven’t heard yet if the movie’s producers and execs know how to handle the situation. Production has been under way for weeks, so it’s doubtful Styles would be fired… but this doesn’t bode well for the rest of the shoot, which moves to Vegas next week.  
  
Bratty Styles is back! We’re on the scene and hope to have more info soon.  
  
_Story developing…_

 

  
**Is Harry Styles Back on the Market?**  
_Just Jared – JULY 30, 2017 // tweet us // like us // pin it_  
  
Harry Styles is about to be single again, if reports emerging on social media are correct.  
  
The 22-year-old actor and his 24-year-old boyfriend Zayn Malik seemed to be going strong as of just this morning. A fellow diner at a sushi restaurant in Los Angeles a few days ago said they couldn’t keep their eyes off each other.  
  
_PHOTOS: Check out the latest pics of Harry Styles_  
  
But it’s been reported today that the couple may have split up, after rumors emerged of Harry stepping out on Zayn. Sources have said Harry invited a young production assistant from his new movie into his trailer for a little bonding time. TMZ is said to have photographic evidence, but only time will tell.  
  
**UPDATE:** According to _People_ , the reports of Harry Styles inviting a production assistant into his trailer are FALSE. We have our own on-set source who says the PA did deliver alcohol to Harry, the exchange of which can be seen in low-res, grainy photos. But he left exactly two minutes later and returned to the production office.  
  
“Everything they’re saying is false,” a second source told the mag. “It’s true he won’t leave his trailer, and production is at a loss. But something’s going on. Something is wrong. We don’t know what’s happened, but he didn’t do anything with a PA.”  
  
So what’s going on? We can’t say. But reporters are currently waiting outside the main Paramount gate, to see when Harry finally emerges from his trailer.  
  
**DO YOU THINK** Harry Styles cheated? Is he okay? _Bigger pictures inside…_

  
  
***

  
Do they seriously have paps sitting OUTSIDE Paramount rn? Like it’s a zoo or something? That’s rude as hell, don’t care who they’re after…  
_-Seely Youth, staff writer (@hwood_writes) 9:16 pm – July 30, 2017_  
  
WHY CAN’T THEY LEAVE HIM ALONE? HE’S NOT A CHEATER. SOMEONE WENT INTO HIS TRAILER FOR LIKE 1 MINUTE. I’M AT THE GATE, I WOULDVE SEEN.  
_\- styles for miles (@hstyles8meplease) 9:16 pm – July 30, 2017_  
  
omg a car just came thru the gate, it’s late, there’s nothing shooting, it has to be zayn, to save the day!!!!!!!!! (hdu for doubting them, tmz fuckers)  
_\- brit styles (@BrittneyAlvarez88) 9:34 pm – July 30, 2017_

  
  
***

  
As Harry sits under his makeup station, with his head in his hands, he realizes the worst part of the entire scenario: this, right now, is not an entirely foreign sensation.  
  
Harry’s been a mess before. He’s snorted and smoked, drank himself stupid, stumbled his way out of bars, with the distinct awareness of what it’ll look like. He’s not an idiot; for the last two years, he’s woken up and before even getting out of bed, checks his phone for Google alerts about himself.  
  
He has the trades saved as Bookmarks on every device he owns. He fucks himself up, and then immediately looks to see what people are saying. It’s a perverse need to not only check his own whereabouts from the night before, but an even sadder need to read the negative comments. Harry doesn’t just loathe himself; he needs to read how everyone else does, too.  
  
So this sensation isn’t new. Harry’s been inside clubs and on rooftops, knowing full well what it’ll feel like to exit, to walk through flashbulbs, to be bombarded with questions. He can hear them, all of them, the group outside the gate. They’re waiting, watching, ready to see him stumble outside. They want him to fall, they want him to lash out in anger, or cry, or have an ambulance called.  
  
They’re laughing.  
  
Harry’s used to that. He’s done it loads of times. The new part of this experience is simply that he’s never let himself get this way at work, on a job, with bosses and producers disappointed. He’s never had the press literally pressing through iron bars, to get a glimpse, a front row seat for his destruction while employed.  
  
He hates himself all over again, as it occurs to him. He’s never gotten drunk while at work. It’s the kind of thing that only happens on soap operas and in harlequin novels, when the main character wants attention or is about to overdose.  
  
Harry sniffs, wipes his nose, and takes another pull from the bottle of vodka Mitch so nicely brought to him. Preston refused, so he was really Harry’s only option.  
  
Preston tries again, by knocking on the small window towards the back of Harry’s trailer, the one across from the makeup mirror. He _rap rap_ s, to get Harry’s attention, but he’s slipping again. He got absolutely shitfaced earlier in the afternoon, after shooting the only scenes they needed him for, fell asleep for a few hours, and is now well on his way to being shitfaced a second time.  
  
“Harry,” Preston begs, “please open the door. Can you let me know you’re okay? Just say my name, tell me you’re alive.”  
  
“Preston,” Harry grumbles, before taking another swig. “Preeeston, my best friend. I am not dead.”  
  
“Can you open the door then?” Preston presses a palm to the glass.  
  
It’s so late now, it has to be hours after sunset. Preston should eat dinner, he should leave Harry to himself, to stew and cry, the press be damned. Harry almost tells him to leave, that maybe he can just live here now. Maybe Zayn will want to move in.  
  
“I want Zayn,” Harry sniffs.  
  
“I can’t reach him, H. I’ve been trying to get him, and you know this. Please open up.”  
  
“I want Zayn,” Harry presses his lips to his forearm, not sure if Preston can hear him anymore.  
  
Everything’s better with Zayn around. The loneliness and anger that swirl inside Harry’s chest like cotton candy, it all tends to go away when Zayn has his fingers wrapped up in Harry’s. Things are calmer, settled, peaceful when they’re in Harry’s house, or watching movies, or driving in Zayn’s car for hours on end. They never get chased in Zayn’s car.  
  
It was all going fine that morning. It was a normal day. Preston drove him through the gate to his trailer. He ate an egg-white omelet while Carina did his hair, read through his scenes when they did his makeup. He answered a few of Seth’s emails, without realizing he hadn’t scrolled down far enough to see the other email waiting for him.  
  
He shot his scenes. George hasn’t been on set the last two days, he’s not needed again until Vegas. He wrapped his LA scenes and then went to Italy with his wife. Harry’s thankful for that, the fact that George won’t have to see him like this.  
  
It was only after Harry wrapped that he read the email. His mother sent it early, because she probably wanted him to read it first thing, to fuck him up somehow. That’s the other thing Harry can be thankful for: he was officially done with his workday by the time he read it, most of the crew had been wrapped, by the time he toppled over the edge.  
  
Mitch came by to ask if he needed anything before leaving for the day. Production was going to let the PAs leave relatively early, since everyone was done by two that afternoon. It was a nice break, before the crew had to gear up for Vegas. And it was then, with Preston’s angered gaze and refusal, that Harry asked Mitch to get him a very large, very heavy box of alcohol from whatever liquor store happened to be closest.  
  
When Mitch nodded and left, Preston stepped out after him, and Harry swiftly locked the door. He only opened it once Mitch came back and handed it over, with concerned eyes. Hoffman tried to talk him out, a few producers came by with concerned voices. They all tried to see if they could talk it out, whatever was wrong, to see what he needed. But he politely declined, said he was just sick, contagious, dealing with a family emergency.  
  
Eventually they all left. They let him be. Harry’s sure Preston had some conversations, called Seth to smooth it over with higher-ups, handled it so Harry wouldn’t have to. He’s grateful. And once he can get out from under his makeup station, he’ll let Preston know. He’ll give him a raise.  
  
So that’s how Harry spent the rest of his day, with various bottles between his palms and regret laced in every exhale. He tossed his phone somewhere. He hasn’t looked or read a word of anything they’re saying, sure that they’re all saying something. He needed to be alone, he needed Zayn, he needed to not be Harry Styles.  
  
_It’ll all be better when Zayn comes._ Harry nods to himself, again, and takes three massive gulps of vodka.  
  
Three minutes later, or maybe like three hours later, Harry’s not sure, another knock comes to the door.  
  
“Preston, go home,” Harry calls, leaning out from under the white counter top, wobbly and unsteady. “Go eat dinner, I know you’re hungry. Get something green. Nothing fried.”  
  
“Hey, it’s me.”  
  
Harry blinks. Shakes his head. Surprised.  
  
He scurries out from under the makeup station, knocking his face against the metal chair, to crawl to the main room. The vodka bottle has a lid on it again, that’s nice, when did that happen, it doesn’t even spill. He scrambles to his feet, in nothing but his black briefs and unlocks the door with numb fingers.  
  
Zayn tries to step in quickly, Harry’s so grateful for that, but he sees. The mass of people, the cameras and fans and sneering men with their gleeful eyes, all near the gate. They’re calling, they’re screaming his name, Harry screws up his eyes as he steps back. They can’t have him, not today.  
  
And then he’s there, beautiful Zayn Malik in a sweater made of roses. Harry can’t help himself as he throws his body against Zayn’s, wraps him in his arms, holds so tight, his mouth on the white rose near Zayn’s shoulder.  
  
“Babe, you’re here,” he slurs. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve wanted you here all day. Did you see? Did you see P’s calls? He said he was calling over and over.”  
  
“I was at work all day. But yes, I saw.”  
  
His voice is like velvet, like it drips gold, or maybe spins gold, like Rumpelstiltskin did back whenever that story happened. Harry wants to weave it into his hair. They haven’t technically had sex yet, just sloppy blowjobs before dinner dates and movies. They’ve been so busy, they’ve only seen each other a handful of times, haven’t slept over, and Zayn’s voice is so beautiful, like gold. Harry should fall to his knees right now.  
  
But Harry realizes too late that Zayn’s voice sounds weird, it sounds angry and sad, like how he sounded when he yelled at Harry on their first date. It’s not sweet. Harry should fix it, should make Zayn laugh, but he’s too sad to try.  
  
“Babe, I’m so sad,” Harry slurs worse, as he steps back to take in Zayn’s pretty face.  
  
“I see that,” Zayn nods, his eyes wide, hands on Harry’s hips.  
  
“It’s been a bad day.”  
  
“I can tell.”  
  
“Have they written about it yet? They’re saying I’m a mess, aren’t they.”  
  
“Among other things.”  
  
Harry sniffs and wipes at his nose. It’s been running all day. Maybe he has a cold. Zayn watches him, sees the bottle of vodka sloshing in his hand, as he runs a bare forearm against his face. Zayn eventually leads Harry to one of the couches, sets him right on it, and takes the bottle. Zayn sits opposite him and stares, stares so hard it’s like Harry will never escape it.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Zayn asks like they’re in a business meeting. There’s no warmth or comfort waiting for Harry, no open arms to fall into, not now. Zayn assesses Harry, calculates him, reads him like he’s reading code.  
  
“Are you mad at me?” Harry frowns.  
  
“Harry, tell me what’s wrong. I don’t want to talk about anything else.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I need you to tell me what’s wrong, so we can get you out of this trailer, and back to your house. We need to go.”  
  
“But I want to talk,” Harry sits forward. “I’m really sad, Zayn.”  
  
“Why are you sad,” Zayn nods again, serious and steady.  
  
“Why are you mad at me? You’re acting weird,” Harry frowns further. He wants to tell Zayn about the email, about what his parents did. He wants to tell Zayn all his secrets. But not like this, not when Zayn seems so far away.  
  
Zayn runs his hands down his face on a groan, frustrated and upset. Harry wants them to be sitting together, he wants to make Zayn happy. Maybe he can tell a joke to lighten the mood. He can tell Zayn about his parents when they’re tucked in bed later. But Zayn stares at him again, angry and harsh. Harry feels it in his gut, something’s wrong.  
  
“Harry, we should go.”  
  
“What’s wrong?” Harry whines.  
  
“You’re acting like a child,” Zayn says through gritted teeth. “And I really don’t want to get angry with you when there’s an army of cameras just outside.”  
  
Harry blinks. Zayn is mad.  
  
“Fuck the cameras,” Harry tries.  
  
“There’s a van sitting outside my house. Another van followed me here. They’re calling my assistant, asking for the names of my sisters. They’re looking into my tax history,” Zayn cracks his knuckles, eyes boring into Harry. “We’ve only been together for a few weeks, and I… they’re acting like Princess-fucking-Di is in here. They’re breaking down the fucking gate to get at us right now.”  
  
“I told you they’d want pieces,” Harry sniffs. “I told you.”  
  
“You never said it’d be like this. This – this isn’t what I thought. I’m not – this isn’t my life, Harry. I’m not this person, I don’t want what you have.”  
  
“I told you they’d write stories, Zayn! I warned you and asked if you could handle it!”  
  
“Yeah, and I thought all that shit, the shit they’d write, I thought it would all be false. I thought you were over this, acting like a fucking baby when you have a bad day. You’re making a scene. I told you, you’re not allowed to take shit out on other people.”  
  
“I didn’t! I’m not making a scene! I made sure to stay inside!”  
  
“You’re throwing a tantrum in your fancy Hollywood trailer, Harry. This is not normal. This is not okay,” Zayn hisses. “They’re writing stories because you let them. They’re saying shit about you because it’s not always false.”  
  
“Everything they say about me is a lie.”  
  
“No, it’s not. They’re making fun of you because you fucking hand it to them. They’re laughing at you because you’re acting like a child. _That_ is the reality of your situation.”  
  
“Why are you being so mean?” Harry gapes at him.  
  
“Because clearly no one else can get through to you.”  
  
He suddenly stands up and holds out a hand. Harry stares at it, the perfect planes of it, the life line and love line stark and grooved. Harry wants to be able to read palms, to see if he’s in there somewhere. But he looks up to Zayn’s eyes, confused.  
  
“Let’s get you dressed,” Zayn says steady as ever.  
  
“But – ”  
  
“Harry. Since you won’t say what’s wrong, we are going to get you dressed and take you home.”  
  
“Are we okay?”  
  
Zayn doesn’t say anything. He’s still angry, Harry can see it written across his face. He’s furious.  
  
Harry can’t blame him. He can’t blame him at all, as he grips Zayn’s hand and stands. He’s too drunk, he’s sloppy and sweaty and a tangle of limbs.  
  
He needs to go home. He needs Zayn to take him home. So without another word, Harry wanders towards the back of the trailer to find some clothes. Zayn gave him instructions and he always does what Zayn says. Zayn gives great advice.  
  
Everything’s better with Zayn around. The loneliness and anger that swirl inside Harry’s chest like cotton candy, it all tends to go away when Zayn has his fingers wrapped up in Harry’s. They hardly know each other, only having spent the last few weeks laughing and kissing. They haven’t even slept together yet, and sometimes Harry feels like Zayn fills every crack, every hole, in his exterior. Things are calmer, settled, peaceful when they’re in Harry’s house, or watching movies, or driving in Zayn’s car for hours on end.  
  
So Harry lets himself be led by Zayn, their hands gripped tight, to Zayn’s car just outside the trailer. The flashes and screams pound against Harry’s skull, even with his hood up and one of Zayn’s hats covering his eyes. Zayn and Preston help him into the passenger seat. Preston jogs to the security gate, to help maneuver them out and past the swarm. Harry tries to look at Zayn while Zayn does his seat belt for him. Before he can say anything, Zayn shakes his head to shut him up. They all see it, the weird, stilted movements of two people who aren’t speaking. The screams and flashes get louder, brighter.  
  
Harry leans all the way forward in his seat, to rest his face against his knees, to block it all out.  
  
They never get chased in Zayn’s car. But they do that night, as Zayn silently weaves them through traffic, as fast and efficiently as he can.

  
  
***

  
The group outside Harry’s house is smaller than the group outside the studio gate. That’s all Harry can take comfort in the next morning.  
  
He eventually gets out of bed to look, carefully peaking through the curtain over the balcony doors of his bedroom. There aren’t fans or any local news vans clogging up his street, which is when you know it’s especially bad. No, now it’s just a few paparazzi and TMZ assholes. They stand in a small group, smoking cigarettes, looking at their phones.  
  
“They’re waiting,” Zayn’s voice drifts in through the bedroom door.  
  
Harry turns too fast, makes himself dizzy, so he has to sit on the armchair by the double doors. He’s been hung over more often than not over the last few years, so it’s just another familiar feeling. Zayn hands him a cup of coffee and settles on the edge of the bed, his eyes tired. He’s already dressed, in good jeans and a grey jacket. He looks so handsome, Harry wants to touch. But it doesn’t seem like he’s allowed to yet.  
  
“Thanks for staying,” Harry says with his eyes downcast, embarrassed.  
  
“I didn’t have a choice.”  
  
Harry’s face feels hot, like he’s been baking in the sun for hours. The guilt and shame eat away at him, and he’s only been awake five minutes.  
  
He tries to drink the coffee, but it tastes like battery acid. It’s not what he needs. He should have a mimosa or something, hair of the dog or whatever. He knows Zayn slept in the bed with him, could feel his warmth when he woke up, but it wasn’t a sweet gesture. Just a necessary one.  
  
“They would’ve followed me home,” Zayn clarifies, as if Harry didn’t get that.  
  
“I figured.”  
  
“Have you seen any of it? Have you read any of the shit they’ve written about you since yesterday?”  
  
“I ignored my phone yesterday. And I just woke up.”  
  
“Well let me give you the truncated version, hmm?”  
  
Harry feels like he’s in that restaurant again, shrinking under Zayn’s gaze. Zayn, never one to back down, or give Harry a break, stands.  
  
“They say you blew off an entire day of work.”  
  
“Not true.”  
  
“I talked to Seth and Preston,” Zayn starts to pace, hands in his hair. “So I know you were done for the day. That’s the one fucking saving grace here, the fact that you didn’t fuck up your job. The fact that you didn’t waste the time and energy of the whole staff that depends on you. I know all this, because I also got a call from the head of production. He had my cell number. One of your top bosses, as I drove home from work, asked me to come ‘talk you down.’”  
  
Harry hangs his head.  
  
“I didn’t realize I was on any of their radars, but apparently I’m who they call when Harry Styles looks about five seconds away from a mental breakdown. I’m a goddamn emergency contact and I don’t even know where you come from, who you are, what we’re even _doing_ here.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Zayn shakes his head, like he’s upset at himself for diving too deep into his own feelings. He physically shakes out his arms like he’s dropped two massive weights.  
  
“They also say,” Zayn paces faster, ignoring Harry completely, “that you fucked Mitch.”  
  
“Not true.”  
  
“I know, because the pictures were bullshit. And Preston told me it wasn’t true.”  
  
“They write shit about me, I told you,” Harry says, eyes still towards his lap.  
  
“Really, Harry? So you’re just the poor, innocent victim here?”  
  
Harry stays silent.  
  
“Harry, look at me,” Zayn comes to stand right in front of him, hands in fists.  
  
Harry does so reluctantly, brings his face up so he can see Zayn staring down at him. He feels so small, like he’s in kindergarten getting in trouble for telling the kids what to do during playtime. He used to be a little director, an actor even then, trying to make up his own plays and stories, when all the other kids wanted to do was eat paint.  
  
“I’m sorry for what they said,” Harry exhales, gripping his knee now. “I’m sorry for being a mess, for being unprofessional.”  
  
“Don’t say sorry to me,” Zayn gawks at him, like he’s an idiot.  
  
“But – ”  
  
“You owe an apology to every single person on that set, not me. So you’re going to send emails and texts all fucking morning. You call Stephen and say you’re sorry for fucking up, for dragging the name of his movie through the mud all because _you_ had a bad day.”  
  
“I will,” Harry nods. Zayn said he’d give him advice whenever he needs it. He needs it now, he needs Zayn to yell at him. He deserves it.  
  
“And then you call Seth. He said to call him.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
“And then… and then you tweet, or have Seth put out a statement, whatever it takes, telling them leave you alone. To leave _me_ alone.”  
  
“I will,” Harry stands up, to grab for Zayn’s hand. “I’ll tell them to leave us alone. We need… we have two weeks before Vegas, right? So we’ll just lay low and tell them to fuck off. We can finally take the time for us, without my crazy schedule. Or we can go, we can fly somewhere, anywhere you want.”  
  
“No,” Zayn backs away. “No, I… I’m going home. I want to go back to my house and I don’t want cameras to follow me.”  
  
“Am I coming with you? Should I – like I can have Preston bring me? So we can throw them off?”  
  
Harry wants to tell Zayn about the email, to really explain what it means. He hasn’t heard from his parents in so long, he hasn’t had to listen to his mom’s bullshit for over a year. It was bound to happen eventually, and Harry thought he could handle it without doing something stupid. He should’ve told Zayn sooner, to prevent it, and that’s his fault, for not knowing himself better.  
  
But Zayn will see, he’ll understand, once he knows about the email and how terrible the Styles really are.  
  
Harry tries to reach for Zayn again, his arms outstretched and everything.  
  
“That’s not a good idea,” Zayn shakes his head, backing away further, like a cornered mouse.  
  
“Zayn.”  
  
“I know it’s not always your fault. I know that. They write whatever they want to write. They make their own narrative. You said so.”  
  
Harry nods.  
  
“But this shit… this – this drama follows you around, Harry. You let it. You live inside a hurricane. And I don’t want that. That’s not how I want to live my life.”  
  
“I’ll tell them to leave us alone. I’ll fix it. I’ll be good.”  
  
“That’s what you said last time. And then you locked yourself inside a trailer and threw a hissy fit.”  
  
“I can explain that.”  
  
“Another bad day, yeah? Another outside circumstance that hurt you?”  
  
“Exactly, it’s – ”  
  
Zayn shakes his head and grabs for his bag near the door. He’s leaving, he’s really leaving.  
  
“You need to grow up, Harry. You need to learn how to deal with your problems without making a scene or a spectacle of yourself.”  
  
“Zayn.”  
  
“I hope it goes well in Vegas,” Zayn finishes with a nod. “I really hope you work through whatever’s wrong.”  
  
Harry gapes at him, his hands falling to his sides. It’s so quiet inside his bedroom, the big house he owns not making a sound. They stare at each other, eyes wide, on either side of a train track, across an ocean, miles apart.  
  
“If this is the narrative, if this is the story you’ve let them spin, I don’t want to be apart of it anymore.”  
  
“I’m – sorry,” Harry whispers, at a complete loss.  
  
“You have calls to make,” Zayn nods to Harry’s phone on the nightstand.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Okay,” Zayn says with a tremor to his voice, finally.  
  
He turns to leave, his boots making barely a sound as he runs down the staircase. Harry lets the silence of the house envelope him, until all he can hear are the yells and jeers coming from outside. Zayn must be walking to his car. The yells get harsher. They want something, anything.  
  
Then it’s only the sound of screeching tires as Zayn peels away.

  
  
***

  
They talk about Zayn getting Harry out of his trailer that Monday on “Entertainment Tonight” and “Access Hollywood.” They call Zayn a savior, the loving boyfriend who saw straight through the “tabloid media” bullshit.  
  
The papers call TMZ out for spreading lies, after the spokesman for the movie blasts the website in an open letter, for not only tarnishing Harry’s reputation, but also the nameless college student PA who feared for his job. The PA, by the way, did nothing wrong and his job is safe.  
  
Production was not halted. Harry Styles did not disrupt even a minute of time on set. He is a gracious actor, a composed individual who had a personal issue that has now been dealt with. “You all should be ashamed of yourselves.”  
  
They say Zayn’s gorgeous on “E! News,” over and over, until a talking head correspondent in New York cuts in with a smile, to wonder if Zayn will get into modeling eventually.  
  
Zayn made sure to smile when he got into his car that next morning at Harry’s house, wide and pretty, so no one could say he was angry or displeased. They say he’s supportive and sweet, for picking up Harry’s pieces after a hard day.  
  
Seth spins the meltdown as the result of a death in the family, so sad and terrible that Harry could only cry in a safe space. He didn’t leave his trailer because the cameras were invasive, rude, cruel. He waited for someone important to him, someone with a respectable job outside the industry, to come drive him home, nothing more, nothing less. Seth requests, without a fuck you thrown in even though he wanted to, that everyone leave Harry and Zayn completely alone. “We ask, once again, that you respect the privacy of those involved.”  
  
Deadline runs an inside story, something clearly set up with a movie publicist, with the producers and director Stephen Soderbergh’s quoted disgust over the media constantly barraging their young star with senseless gossip. The commenters, even the ones who still think Harry Styles didn’t deserve such an esteemed movie, mostly agree: why are people so hell-bent on painting Harry Styles as a head case?  
  
The movie will resume production, as scheduled, in Las Vegas in a few weeks’ time. Seth responds to a report about Harry being recast, with dignified contempt. Zayn, while papped outside a grocery store, politely asks the cameraman to leave him alone, because he is not famous, he’s no one, and he won’t comment on anything, now or ever. Preston even gets asked about it, when he grabs two iced coffees one morning near Harry’s house, if Harry has anything to say. He won’t dignify the question with a response.  
  
Zayn Malik, the man who designs and invents new social media outlets, quietly stops posting anything on Twitter and Instagram almost entirely. He ducks his head when a photographer catches him stuck in traffic on Beverly, which “Extra” notes, is not too far from Harry’s house.  
  
Harry Styles, completely silent online and not seen once since the night Zayn drove him home, is nowhere to be found.

  
  
***

  
Where in the world is Harry Styles?  http://goo.gl/kLox6gv  
_\- LAT Entertainment (@latimesent) 10:30 am – August 11, 2017_  
  
We Ask Readers: Will You See ‘Repulsive Individuals’ next year? Worth the drama?  http://goo.gl/pQub2wm  
_\- Entertainment Weekly (@EW) 4:03 pm – August 12, 2017_  
  
Guys, my darling Styles fans, you need to stop @ing me. I don’t know anything, sadly. I’m sure he’s doing just fine. Let him be!  
_\- Tim Mason (@BuzzFeedTim) 6:00 pm – August 12, 2017_

  
  
***

  
Preston walks in on Harry trying to hang a framed map above his bed. It’s a detailed schematic map of Zurich’s train system, something his dad picked up when Harry was a kid. Harry forgot about it stashed away with the other junk he had in the attic, until suddenly in the middle of his morning yoga session, he remembered it. He remembered wanting to hang it up.  
  
So he did just that, after he wiped the sweat off his forehead, scampered up the stairs to the attic, to dig through years of boxes to find it. He’s not sure why it came to him that day, or why he felt so compelled to hang it, but then fast as anything, he was on his bed with a hammer in his hand and nails between his fingers.  
  
“Zurich?” Preston reads the legend in the corner, moving to the left of Harry’s bed, his face questioning as Harry straightens it.  
  
“Zurich,” Harry nods, jumping to the floor. He walks all the way to the balcony doors, in his long shorts and dirty t-shirt, to admire the view.  
  
Preston comes to join him, the two of them with crossed arms, staring like it’s a difficult painting to assess, a Picasso or abstract they need to figure out. Harry’s room probably smells, he hasn’t aired it out or opened a window in a few days. There are empty walnut bags on every surface, juice bottles strewn across the floor, self-help books opened and laying flat across the bed alongside his new journal.  
  
Preston, who hasn’t been up to Harry’s room lately, sighs. He must choose to ignore the mess.  
  
“Why Zurich?”  
  
“Sixty percent of the population in Zurich take public transportation,” Harry nods, savoring the teaching moment. “Did you know that?”  
  
“I did not.”  
  
“The city is wealthy, which is why that’s a pretty big deal. The citizens take pride in their public transport. Very well funded, hardly any pollution, pretty quiet. It’s gorgeous as well, the way the city was planned and laid out. It lends itself very well to a large, overhead map.”  
  
Preston nods. Harry nods. They stare at the city as if they’re inside a plane right above it, the roads and Riviera making up what looks like a complicated game board, close yet so far away.  
  
Eventually, Preston nudges Harry’s arm, to get him thinking.  
  
“How are you feeling today?”  
  
Harry ponders the question as he continues to look ahead at Zurich. He’s never been there. He’s never been to a lot of the places he has mapped across his house, sadly. But then he glances down to his bed, to the journal Preston gave him, for this very purpose.  
  
“I am very smart,” Harry says to himself, for Preston to hear, to see how he’s improved. “I can read maps. I have a good memory. I’m kind. I’m decent.”  
  
Preston nods.  
  
“All true.”  
  
Harry nods.  
  
They tilt their heads, both wondering at the same time if Zurich is tilted too much to the right. It’s not.  
  
“I should run today,” Harry shrugs. “A few miles, I think.”  
  
“I’ll run with you.”  
  
“The gym downstairs only has one treadmill,” Harry nudges Preston’s arm in return.  
  
“We could run outside. Around here, or go to some other neighborhood. Just, you know… somewhere in the sun,” Preston shrugs casually.  
  
Harry blinks. Zurich is probably nice this time of year.  
  
“Or you could lift weights. Next to the treadmill. While I run.”  
  
“I could.”  
  
“Then we’ll stretch?”  
  
Preston, being the teddy bear that he is, hidden beneath all that muscle and brawn, sighs. He throws an arm around Harry, across the small, pitiful shoulders next to his own, and pulls Harry close.  
  
“Sounds good, H.”  
  
Harry nods and leans into the touch, a little.

  
  
***

  
They decide to drive to Las Vegas instead of stressing over getting through the airport undetected. They leave before the sun comes up, a few weeks after the night Harry holed himself up in his Paramount trailer.  
  
After the silence Harry insisted on, after days upon days of giving them nothing, the cameramen and creeps with glossy 5x10s of Harry to wave near his front gate, all leave Harry’s block. As the black SUV pulls out of Harry’s driveway, there’s no one around to witness it.  
  
From the backseat, Seth punches at a pillow to get comfortable, his Starbucks latte sloshing in his hand. Seth hates long drives, detests sitting in any sort of backseat entirely, so it doesn’t go unappreciated on Harry’s end. Seth didn’t have to come. But maybe he knew Harry would like it if he did. He must’ve known Harry needed him as well as Preston around, as he gets his head back on straight before getting back to work.  
  
“Preston, I love you, but if you swerve one more time into another lane, I am going to vomit,” Seth complains two hours later.  
  
Harry chuckles from the front seat, as he presses at the sunglasses covering his eyes. It’s not a terrible drive to Vegas from LA, if it’s not a Friday or rush hour, so Preston resolves with a wink to Harry, to stay put.  
  
A few minutes later, as they pass a billboard with a gorgeous male model in Armani jeans, Harry nods. He’s ready.  
  
“So,” Harry turns in his seat to face them both. “I think I’m going to tweet.”  
  
Seth’s eyebrows shoot straight to his forehead.  
  
“You want to tweet,” he nods. “Okay, what do you want to say?”  
  
“Just something simple. A hello, or thank you, to the fans. I think just to say I’m alive and okay. And… I don’t know, prepare them for the next few months.”  
  
“They’ll start right in on you, H. They’ll ask for Zayn. They’re dying for him, I told you that.”  
  
“They can’t have Zayn, just like _I_ told _you._ ”  
  
Seth fiddles with his watch, his fingers twitching for his phone. He wants to grab it so badly, Harry knows, because they have the same tells for when they’re anxious. Harry used to need his phone in his hand at all times, to read the comments and articles and trades and tweets. He’s hardly touched his phone in weeks. It sits in the glove compartment at the moment, while he instead grips his journal between his hands. It’s already worn in, the leather cracking slightly, just the way Harry likes it.  
  
“Hey, I’m all for you tweeting. It’s important to stay connected, even minimally,” Seth tosses his hands up. “I’m just saying, we’ve been so silent on the Zayn front. They’re all wondering.”  
  
“Tough.”  
  
“Even if you say you’ve broken up,” Seth presses, “it’ll help. Then they’ll know, or lay off, if they see you could be sensitive to it.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Harry thinks back to the last time he saw Zayn, the morning after. Zayn’s entire face, his stance, his body language screamed _I have to get away from you._ And he did. He hasn’t contacted Harry or Seth once, even when the press started to roll out, even when Esquire featured him in a fashion spread, for trendy sweaters (the rose sweater was a big hit, apparently). But in return, Harry hasn’t tried to contact Zayn either. He owes him that much.  
  
Because Zayn was absolutely right when he yelled at Harry. Again. Even when he said he didn’t want cameras around, when he warned about an unapproved narrative, Harry never stopped it. He never tried. He saw them all pulling at Zayn, practically tugging on his hair to force him into being a celebrity, and Harry just let it happen. Drama does follow him around, like a vulture. It’s like for as long as he can remember, Harry has been a dying carcass in the desert, waving his sliced, bleeding limbs into the air, calling out, _can you see me now?_  
  
Harry can cry and wail all he wants about his life, the Liams of it, the ways it’s unfair to him and those around him. But his problems don’t stem from being out of work, his parents being bad people, or the media. They stem from Harry himself, the times he’s let himself slip and not get up again, the self-hatred, narcissism, and woe-is-me attitude Zayn called him out for about five minutes after meeting him. And while it’s true that ever since Zayn walked into his life, the loneliness and anger that swirl inside Harry’s chest have dissipated slightly, they’ve also never truly gone away.  
  
And a wise man once told Harry to try liking himself for a change, to see how it feels. So it’s about time Harry gives himself a reason to.  
  
Harry decided to disappear over his break, and while he works. It’s his new self-imposed rule, one Seth is still coming to terms with: if Harry is working, Harry is off the map. If he decides to take a vacation, he’s gone. A ghost. It’s his personal time, to ignore the words they write about him, to prepare himself mentally, to appreciate his good qualities. That’s why he’s started to write them down, the things he likes, the things his parents used to tell him to value. It’s helped. His other self-imposed rule, now that he’s had his heart broken, is that if Harry is in a relationship, no one gets to see inside it.  
  
But actions speak louder than words. And Harry means it now: no one gets a piece. Not anymore. They don’t get a piece of Harry, or Zayn, or any other bystander.  
  
“If Zayn wants to comment on his own life,” Harry nods, turning back to the road ahead, “then he can comment. But I won’t drag him into anything, or use his name to get people to feel sorry for me.”  
  
“That’s fair,” Preston offers, with an assured wink to Harry. Preston’s always on Harry’s side, bless him. So Harry holds out a small fist for Preston to envelope in his bear claw.  
  
“You know I’ll do whatever you want,” Seth scoffs, offended.  
  
“I know, don’t worry. I know what you’re trying to say. And I appreciate it.”  
  
“Good. Now tweet your sappy goodbye, before everyone officially writes you off as dead.”  
  
Harry rolls his eyes, but tosses a smile to the backseat. Seth has already dipped his sunglasses to his face and popped two more chalky Tums into his mouth, disgusted. Preston starts to laugh at him, much to Seth’s dismay.  
  
Harry can’t help but smile at the both of them, the two parental figures he’s had alongside him from the beginning.  
  
Harry finds, after sitting with it for a few more minutes, he has a few things to say after all.

  
  
***

  
The movie is shaping up nicely, can’t wait to see the cast/crew in Vegas. Should be a great rest of the shoot.  
_\- Harry Styles. (@Harry_Styles) 7:23 am - August 13, 2017_  
  
I appreciate all your well wishes and nice sentiments. You’re all very sweet and nice. I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten.  
_\- Harry Styles. (@Harry_Styles) 7:24 am - August 13, 2017_  
  
Just remember, everyone deserves privacy. Lets not look at rude pap pics of anyone, ya? Even hot model-types like to be left alone :)  
_\- Harry Styles. (@Harry_Styles) 7:25 am - August 13, 2017_  
  
So it’s high time I focus. Want to be the best Andrew I can be, so I’ll be signing off for awhile. Would love to take the time just for me.  
_\- Harry Styles. (@Harry_Styles) 7:29 am - August 13, 2017_  
  
Until next time… Whenever that may be… All the love, H.  
_\- Harry Styles. (@Harry_Styles) 7:30 am - August 13, 2017_

  
  
***

  
The second half of the “Repulsive Individuals” shoot takes place throughout Las Vegas, at various landmarks and hotels. It’s a well-oiled machine, Harry has it down, and he’s Andrew even when he’s not Andrew.  
  
He’s spotted only twice, when not physically on set or surrounded by crew guys. Once, when he goes with Preston to a restaurant Preston’s college friend owns, and another time when they venture to their hotel pool.  
  
Both times, it’s only a few simple tweets from girls and young men who used to love him years ago. He politely declines personal photos, but graciously says thank you for the continued support.  
  
Preston pulls Harry away with a firm hand on the back of his neck, each time.  
  
On the last day, they have a wrap party. Photos of the night smatter the Internet, Harry’s bright face beaming in each of them, his arms around his cast mates.  
  
They even catch a quiet moment: George Clooney pulling Harry into a hug. It becomes a black and white promo shot that gets sent to all the news sites. It shows George holding Harry there on an empty sound stage for a long minute, whispering how proud he is. Harry holds onto the back of his jacket for dear life.  
  
That’s the lasting impression the world has of Harry, on that set, with those people, joyous and smiling. He’s proud. Serene. Laughing towards the camera.  
  
And that’s the last anyone sees or hears of Harry Styles for a very long time.

  
  
***

  
Happy New Year, 2018! I hope it’s everything you wish for. I hope you’re happy and safe.  
_-zayn malik (@zaynmalik) 12:01 am – January 1, 2018_

  
  
  
***

  
**12 Formerly-Everywhere Celebs Who Have Basically Disappeared**  
_ELLE celeb_  
_by Ashley Abbott – April 1st, 2018_  
  
**9\. Harry Styles**  
  
Real question: has Harry straight-up abandoned us as a country? I think he may be abroad or on Mars or something. He had a rough few years, seemed to bounce back completely with both a huge movie and a hot boyfriend, and then POOF. He shot his movie at the end of last summer, waved to a few fans from the Vegas airport, and then vanished off the face of the earth.  
  
His reps say he’s resting. His ex-boyfriend told a random girl in LA, when she asked politely, that he hasn’t spoken to Harry in months. His Twitter became a ghost town.  
  
Workwise, the ridiculously-hyped “Repulsive Individuals” comes out next month, so we’re sure to see him then, on the promotional circuit. But what if he comes back into the limelight as a total bore? Or WORSE, bald?  
  
Guess we’ll have to wait and see.  
  
**10\. Liam Payne**  
  
Speaking of Harry Styles, remember when he dated that DJ in Los Angeles, the one who was never really famous until he hopped into Harry’s car that first night? It was like every time you saw Harry, there was that hot bearded guy trailing behind him. He was known around town and in New York for his club promoting, but it wasn’t until Harry that he became a “name” to news outlets.  
  
The two of them traipsed across Los Angeles for months, with paps following them constantly, cameras in their faces, and well documented fights inside VIP rooms. Suddenly Liam Payne’s face was everywhere, splashed across every front page alongside Harry’s.  
  
After they broke up and the world caught a glimpse of their literal dirty laundry, Liam tried to stay in the limelight. He put his face out there further, promoted some personally-branded whey protein, kept up the club appearances.  
  
But he was arrested in December for disturbing the peace and cocaine possession. He even tweeted Harry after the fact, to say sorry and request a “casual lunch date.” It… was not a good look.  
  
Liam Payne is one of those quasi-celebs who should stay far, far in the depths of last year, don’t you think? Good riddance.

  
  
***

  
**From:** Seth Gould,  <sethg@RJred-management.com>  
**To:** H Edward,  <hedward@me.com>  
  
**Subject:** itinerary  
April 10, 2018 - 2:10 PM PST  
  
H, I genuinely can’t wait to see you. It feels like it’s been years, right? Do you miss this face? This old, gorgeous Jew with the wavy locks? Do you miss me staring at my phone and carrying on a conversation at the same time, my one and only talent?  
  
I’ll answer the tough questions for you, as always, and say that you DO miss me. Terribly.  
  
Attached is a PDF of the press itinerary next month. It won’t be terrible. I’ve had meetings upon meetings with the studio and marketing people, the publicist we hired specifically for this, as well. It’s nothing crazy, nothing invasive, a few junkets where journalists will be prompted to ask not just you, but all the actors, only about the movie. George usually requests that anyhow, so we’re safe.  
  
I think we also may pencil in a late night appearance, not sure which one, depends on which coast you’re on when we have time. Maybe a BuzzFeed piece, since you seem to like them. Or maybe we can go bigger, like Vogue or Esquire or something. Up to you.  
  
Preston can’t wait to see you, as well. I know he’s flown out to you a few times over the months, but still. That big oaf in LA without you, just doesn’t look right.  
  
And I swore I’d never bring it up, but… have you talked to your parents? I know Anne’s been emailing again, I’ve seen them piling up in your inbox… Don’t hate me. Either way, if you’ve let them back in, or if you haven’t, I’m with you. You know I’m always with you.  
  
You fly into LAX in a few days… Do you need a ride from the airport? I can swing by and pick you up. If you want.  
  
S  
  
  
  
_**Seth Gould**_  
_**Senior Talent Manager, RJ Red Management**_

  
  
***

  
**From:** H Edward,  <hedward@me.com>  
**To:** Seth Gould,  <sethg@RJred-management.com>  
  
**Subject:** RE: itinerary  
April 10, 2018 - 6:17 PM PST  
  
Got it. I trust you guys, any press you set up, I know it’ll be how we discussed. All good. I can’t wait to see you. I miss you and Gillian, can’t wait to crash on your couch like old times.  
  
And for the airport, I would love that. Preston too? Talk soon.  
  
H

  
  
***

  
**Zayn Malik – ‘I’m Not Famous, Dude’ [SPLASH VIDEO]**  
_4/12/2018 4:29 PM PDT – POSTED BY Splash Staff_  
  
We could hardly believe our eyes, but we caught Zayn Malik this afternoon, catching a flight out of LAX.  
  
You’ll remember him as actor Harry Styles’ ex-boyfriend from last year, the smarty-pants millionaire who we swore up and down would have a modeling contract signed by Christmas. He’s been MIA though, ever since he quietly told a few insiders that the relationship fizzled.  
  
Our photographer spotted him heading into the American Airlines terminal, wearing a leather jacket and a grey beanie. He only had one bag over his shoulder and no time for us. [VIDEO  HERE.]  
  
“I’m just trying to get to security,” Malik shrugged to our guy. “I’m not famous, dude. Don’t you want to go find someone interesting? Maybe a Kardashian around here somewhere?”  
  
See, he’s funny as well as attractive.  
  
We tried to ask where he’s headed, if he’s talked to Harry Styles lately (who hasn’t been spotted or heard from in months), but he wasn’t saying.

  
  
***

  
Harry throws all the patio doors open first thing. He wants the breeze from the beach to fill up his space, from top to bottom, the waves as a soundtrack. It’s beautiful this time of day, when the world is fresh and new. Harry takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, to see if he can taste the salt right from his living room.  
  
He makes his way into the airy kitchen to start coffee and cut up his fruit, the cantaloupe, guava, and oranges ripe and in season. The woman who cleans the house always makes sure to bring a few tangerines as well, from her own yard, and presents them to Harry with a wide smile. When he told her the day before that he had to go back to Los Angeles in a few days, she muttered her sadness with a sweet pat to his cheek. Harry thinks he’ll miss their small interactions in passing. She’s sweet.  
  
But Harry knows it’s time. He’s been in Florida for the better part of a year, in a small community near the beach where Seth’s parents retired before they died a few years back. It’s been perfect, completely serene and quiet, far from prying eyes, given how the only eyes on Harry on any given day are littered with cataracts, covered in prescription sunglasses.  
  
Mrs. Leibowitz next door has Harry skim her pool when she can’t get down into the yard. She had surgery on her hip before Christmas, and some days are worse than others. Mr. and Mrs. Dembitzer from two doors down to the left always invite Harry over for bridge, a game he’s mastered at this point. The Greens and Pittmans tend to send Harry home with klobasneks and strudels to tide him over, so even on the days he vows to eat completely clean, they win.  
  
It’s been a blessing, to surround himself with elderly gentlemen and ladies, who wouldn’t know how to tweet if their lives depended on it. They make him casseroles, they tut about Harry’s love life when he doesn’t bring any girls to visit, and they rarely make a fuss over him, unless it’s to tell him to get a haircut.  
  
Harry inhales again, deeply, the coffee dark and rich just how he likes it, smiling after his visit to the grocery store the day before.  
  
That’s been the nicest part of living here, talking things over with Mr. Hubbard, the old man who lives closer to the grocery store than the beach. Harry would sometimes see him sitting on his porch, rocking in his chair with the paper in his dark, withered hand, listening to an old radio. He always had Nina Simone playing. Or maybe it was only when he played Nina Simone that Harry noticed, his eyes traveling across the man’s sunken face tucked behind large reading glasses.  
  
Harry thought he was staring the first time; he tends to do that with people who fascinate him for one reason or another, until Mr. Hubbard rolled his eyes like he knew. He whistled for Harry to come join him, which Harry did, even though he had a pint of soy ice cream in his brown paper bag, sweating right through it.  
  
After only ten minutes of chatting, Harry was instructed to call him Leslie, which Harry only does in his presence. He’s Mr. Hubbard to Harry, a war vet with five kids all living up in Miami and Pensacola. He rather likes living alone, he insisted, as he patted at his knee absentmindedly.  
  
Mr. Hubbard is of the perceptive nature, or so he said, and insisted Harry tell him his troubles. Harry’s gone back almost every week since that first time, to sit on the porch, rocking back and forth alongside him.  
  
They talk about Harry’s parents, mostly. Harry realized a very long time ago that many of his troubles stem from them, from who they are, and how they make him feel. Mr. Hubbard calls them bastards and curses under his breath, every time Harry settles into the conversation. He lets Harry talk for hours, bless him. It’s probably been the best use of Harry’s time in years.  
  
All in all, it’s been a great break. He’s been writing and reading books, planning his future, learning to like himself. It’s been a long, clean, extended break, far away from home, in a new home. A healthier one.  
  
Harry could return back to California as is, with his newfound Zen attitude. He could bounce back because he’s finally understood what so many Hollywood actors have understood before him, like Louis Tomlinson once said: not everything needs to be shown to the world. He could live his life anew, without prying eyes or invasive questions, because he won’t allow it anymore.  
  
He could do it. He knows he could. But for whatever reason, there’s something that needs to be resolved first, something that won’t let him be. It’s the one trouble he hasn’t discussed with Mr. Hubbard, the one he’s kept too close to let any of his geriatric neighbors in on.  
  
He needs to talk to Zayn Malik. He needs to right the wrong and let himself feel it. He needs to say sorry.  
  
So Harry drinks his coffee and breathes, the open windows along the sink and counter top inviting the sunlight and breeze in.  
  
The knock on the front door doesn’t interrupt his thoughts, as much as it settles them.

  
  
***

  
_He smells the same._ That’s Harry’s first thought, as they see each other for the first time in nine months. Harry can smell him across the threshold, that mixture of Gucci, eucalyptus, and classic Dial soap. He practically wafts his scent at Harry’s face, the wind whipping from behind him right into Harry’s house.  
  
Zayn reaches for him first, to hold him in a hug. Harry can’t exactly place the feeling behind it, can’t tell if it’s full of warmth, or just a force of habit, or maybe just a polite touch. But he lets himself feel it, forces himself to recognize the way he feels, and touches his nose to Zayn’s neck. The black hair beneath his beanie tickles Harry’s cheek.  
  
They don’t speak until Zayn has a glass of water in front of him near the couch, across from Harry in a plush white armchair facing the open doors leading to the beach. It’s a gorgeous day, the house doesn’t need any lamps or lighting, the TV stays off like it is most mornings. Harry enjoys the quiet.  
  
“You look good,” Zayn smiles, tugging his beanie off, the heat getting to him. Harry’s pleasantly surprised to see Zayn’s hair is still shaved on the sides, not as close as it once was, a little more grown in, but the top flopping down onto his forehead.  
  
“You look… you look like you,” Harry smiles in return. “The same. It’s nice.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Harry forgot how polite Zayn can be, how friendly and at-east he is. He’s not the type to scoff at a compliment, or insist he doesn’t look good. He knows and he accepts nice words when thrown his way. It’s another quality Harry could learn from Zayn; he should write it down.  
  
“I’m really glad you’re here.”  
  
“I honestly never expected to be. Your email took me by surprise. You always did, I suppose,” Zayn nods.  
  
Harry brings his bare feet up to the chair to tuck them under himself. He’s taken to wearing mostly running shorts and plain white t-shirts around the clock, his tanned skin glowing against the fabric. His hair’s so long it’s to his shoulders now, curling at the ends. He sees Zayn see it, the ways he’s different, more relaxed and calm.  
  
“I just… I felt it was better, to talk to you here, instead of when I got back to the city. I think I needed to… wrap it all up, before going back to my life, you know?”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“So really, I truly appreciate you flying in. I hope it wasn’t a huge inconvenience.”  
  
Zayn nods politely. He’s so perfect, the cut of his jaw angled just so that Harry has that phantom itch to go kiss at it, to run his tongue up to his ear. It always tasted just as good as it looked. Probably still does.  
  
But Harry needs to focus, to center himself. Zayn didn’t come here for that. He came to tie up the loose end, just like Harry. They didn’t date long, they both recognize that, and they hardly knew the ins and outs of each other. But they dated long enough for it to mean something, deep down, where it counts.  
  
Harry feels too far away, like he’s in a therapy session or courtroom, so he gingerly gets up to sit next to Zayn on the couch. He wrings his hands, nervous for how to start, when Zayn reaches for him. Harry looks up as Zayn places his hands on either side of Harry’s, his eyes telling him to go slow.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Harry exhales. “I’m so sorry for the mess. And I’m most sorry for the position I put you in.”  
  
Zayn bites his lip, concentrating on Harry’s face.  
  
“I don’t make excuses for myself anymore. You said not to, so I’ve tried to be better about it. It’s like… There are always circumstances and outside influences, you know? That make us react certain ways and do the things we do. But we can’t let those things be excuses. We have to own up to our choices after the fact and take ownership, you know?”  
  
Zayn still hasn’t taken his hands away from Harry’s, his fingers gripping Harry tighter. But he smirks lazily, with a shake to his head.  
  
“Looks like someone’s been reading while on vacation.”  
  
“I have,” Harry’s cheeks flare. “I’ve read more self-help shit than you can imagine.”  
  
Zayn snorts at that, but keeps quiet.  
  
“So I won’t make an excuse for that last day, the shit storm I got myself into while inside that trailer. I practically asked for it. I let them get to me that night, you know?”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“But you just should know… the reason.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Harry tries to form the words, about the email. He tries to make it sound as least pathetic as he can, but it’s no use.  
  
“I got an email. From my mom. She had sent it that morning, and I read it in my trailer right after my scenes.”  
  
“Okay,” Zayn frowns. They never talked about Harry’s family, for those few weeks they were together. It didn’t exactly come up, even when Zayn told Harry all about his sisters and parents, the big house they grew up in down in Orange County. Zayn had an amazing childhood, his dad a doctor, his mom a counselor. His older sister went to Yale, his younger sisters were well on their way to being geniuses just like Zayn, tech savvy and bright as hell.  
  
But Harry never offered much about his family. He made sure not to.  
  
“Do you know what a Coogan account is?”  
  
“No,” Zayn shakes his head, still frowning.  
  
“It’s basically an account set up for minors, by law, so that child performers can have a chunk of their earnings stowed away for when they turn eighteen. It’s like a trust.”  
  
Zayn’s smart. He’s probably the smartest person Harry’s ever met, so it takes about three more seconds for it to dawn on him, the way this conversation is headed.  
  
“Okay,” he stares at Harry, angry already.  
  
“I first worked for a while in small stuff, commercials mostly. And then I got my show at sixteen, where I spent two and a half seasons as a minor,” Harry bites his lip.  
  
By now, Harry likes to think he’s removed from all of it, from the sadness that plagued that time in his life. Once he turned eighteen in the back half of season three, once the show was canceled that March, Harry thought the weight of it would crush him. Harry felt personally responsible for the fall of the once beloved show, the show he tried to carry on his back.  
  
But it was nothing compared to what happened a few years after that.  
  
“My Coogan money, along with my salaries after that, were moved to an account. Some accountant my dad said to use, some guy he said was a family friend.”  
  
“Harry,” Zayn moves closer, aware of what it all means.  
  
“They spent all of it,” Harry looks down to their clasped hands. “I didn’t know, I didn’t realize until I got my HBO show. I thought, I’m twenty now, I can handle my money. And I tried to buy a house.”  
  
Zayn brings a hand up to Harry’s hair, to tuck it behind his ear.  
  
“Long story short,” Harry surges on, shaking his head, “my parents stole my entire fortune. They took trips, bought their house in our hometown outright, gave it away. I could sense something; I knew towards the end of my show, when they stopped being around as much, when they left me over and over again, that something was off. I… I think I knew they were fucking me over somehow, deep down.”  
  
“Do… do people know? Does Seth know? Did you file charges?”  
  
“Seth’s lawyers kept it quiet. They all wanted me to sue, to tell the police, all of it.”  
  
“And?” Zayn demands.  
  
“And they’re my parents. They’re shitty, terrible people who banked on me to pay their debts and finance their trips to Europe. But they’re my parents, Zayn.”  
  
“Fuck them,” Zayn pulls at Harry’s chin. “And fuck that. We should sue now. I’ll do it. I’ll get it back.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“I told you, I don’t like confrontation,” Harry tries to smile like it’s okay. “I had it all handled out of court. It’s the one thing the press never got a hold of, the one private aspect of my shitty last few years. I want to keep it that way. And they agreed to give some back, what they had on hand. I took jobs to get paid, to build my account back up, I’m okay now.”  
  
“You’re not okay.”  
  
“I am now,” Harry nods, serious. “I’m better now. I told them when it happened, to never contact me, or my team, ever again. It was a stipulation of me not going to the police.”  
  
“But they’re still emailing you. They’re still trying to weasel back in, they’re trying to hurt you.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And you were you so sad,” Zayn blinks, looking away towards the door, dumbfounded. “You were a fucking wreck that day, you fucking begged me to help you, and I just… I worried about the cameras. I only worried about me. I knew you’d never cheat on me, I knew it was all bullshit, but it just felt like too much, and I just…”  
  
Harry shakes his head then, moves his arm as if he can swat the thoughts away, the guilt Zayn’s feeling. It’s not Zayn’s fault, it was never his job to fix Harry, or baby him when he got sad.  
  
“Don’t,” Harry pulls Zayn closer. “I told you, this isn’t an excuse. I never should’ve put you in that position, like you were the one who was supposed to put me back together. I’m not – excusing myself for the drama and shit I pulled. That was bullshit, Zayn. And you know it.  
  
“But – ”  
  
“No. If someone at your office had done what I did in that trailer, pouting and crying over their mommy’s sad email, they’d be long gone. Fired. Done. You were right when you said I owed about a thousand apologies. You were right about all of it, after that dinner when you called me a baby, how all I ever did was cry about the world being unfair. I create the storm myself. I let it in.”  
  
Zayn exhales, his breath sweeping across Harry’s slightly sunburnt cheeks. He looks upset, and Harry doesn’t want that. This is supposed to be cleansing for the both of them. He’s about to say so, when Zayn leans in fully, his forehead resting against Harry’s. Harry shouldn’t let him, but his eyes slide closed before he can stop himself.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Zayn whispers between them, hand on Harry’s thigh. “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve been there for you.”  
  
“You were.”  
  
“I left you.”  
  
“You’re here now,” Harry offers with a small shrug, eyes still closed tight. He doesn’t want to see Zayn’s reaction to it, not yet. It’s not how Harry envisioned things going, and it’s certainly not something he planned on saying. But sitting like this now, close and entwined after all this time, must mean something. They’re not nothing.  
  
Zayn doesn’t respond, doesn’t offer any more pleas or excuses of his own, nothing to ease Harry’s mind from those last two days, nothing to express how he feels about their mouths only centimeters apart now on the couch.  
  
He just kisses Harry, easy as anything. And that’s perfect, Harry nods against Zayn’s lips, frenzied.  
  
That works.

  
  
***

  
There is definitely a time and place to discuss “feelings” and “the future.” This isn’t it.  
  
They walk hand in hand up the tiny wooden staircase, to the cramped bedroom in the house. It’s beautiful, so different from how Harry lived in LA, all blues and greens, plants in every corner, a skylight to see the stars at night. Harry forgot to remember stars, after living in a massively bright city for so long. He only lets Zayn look around for a few moments, to take in the place Harry’s been sleeping and dreaming for months on end, alone and content, before pulling him in for another kiss.  
  
Zayn comes willingly, melting against Harry’s broad chest like he did last summer. Harry’s palms spread across Zayn’s face, along his neck, to his hair and back, just feeling every cell he can. Zayn lets him, bites Harry’s lip, huffs a breath the longer they move together.  
  
Harry’s not sure where it’s headed exactly, if this encounter will be like every one of their last: hands and mouths around each other, hurried and burning. Harry wouldn’t even mind, since the last orgasm he shared with another person was Zayn Malik himself. He didn’t mean to be celibate while gone, but it sort of just happened that way.  
  
Zayn lays him down slowly, lighting pushing at Harry’s shoulders until he’s flat on the bed. Harry watches, fascinated, at how slow Zayn is. He’s so steady, so sure of himself, as he leans on one knee into the mattress. He tugs at Harry’s shirt first, fingers lingering against his hips, up his chest, until all he can see are miles of tanned torso. Harry shivers despite the warm afternoon heat, as Zayn fingers at his ribs, across his chest, a thumb to each nipple.  
  
Then it’s his shorts, slow and steady, down his hips and over his ass. Harry thinks it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, as Zayn pulls him by the ankles to the edge of the bed, to lift Harry’s legs up. He stares at Harry, an ankle on each shoulder, as he works Harry’s briefs off, a slow peel like a banana.  
  
Harry’s completely naked and open before Zayn even kicks off his boots.  
  
They stare at each other, appreciating the moment, Zayn’s hands running along Harry’s calves and thighs, a kiss to each foot. Harry can’t help it, the smile that spreads across his face, as he toes at Zayn’s hair. It’s flopping over one eye, tussled and thick. Harry remembers how he used to love to touch Zayn’s face, to feel it for himself. But he doesn’t just want to touch with his foot. He wants Zayn naked, too. He wants to feel him.  
  
Zayn kisses his ankle one last time, before letting Harry’s legs fall to the bed. Then he tugs at his shirt quickly, until finally, at long fucking last, he’s bare. Harry tugs at his own hair, shaking his head, at the beautiful specimen hovering over him, in his tiny Florida house of all places. He never thought he’d be here, he never thought Zayn would want this to happen after all this time. Even as well as he’s done, even with all the improvements he’s made to his foundation, sometimes Harry can’t help but look in the mirror and see a mess.  
  
Zayn stares at him, crawls up onto the bed, with a look in his eye that says Harry is anything but a mess. It’s an expression Harry wants to capture in a Polaroid some day, to hang on his fridge.  
  
Zayn’s tongue, insistent as ever, is everywhere at once. Harry could swear it. Along his neck, his chin, his mouth, the dip to his clavicle. Zayn’s teeth follow right along, at each nipple, towards his bellybutton, to the hard lines of muscle leading south.  
  
Harry’s sure he’ll feel Zayn’s mouth on him, sucking him down, even hitches his breath as Zayn kisses at the rough hair above his dick. But then Zayn makes his way back up, tongue and teeth everywhere all over again, until Zayn has Harry’s face in his hands.  
  
“What do you want,” Zayn heaves slightly, overcome and flushed from the heat, his eyes searching.  
  
Harry brings his hands from his hair to Zayn’s over his cheeks, holding on. He loves this face, the one so perfectly symmetrical, it makes the rest of the world look off kilter.  
  
“I want what you want.”  
  
“No,” Zayn shakes his head with a frown. “I want you to tell me.”  
  
Harry bites his lip with a smile, remembering that cheap and unpretentious In-N-Out dinner. It was the first time anyone told Harry to like himself, to at least try, to build himself up instead of tearing it all down. Zayn’s been telling Harry since day one to demand better, to be good, to buck up.  
  
“I want you to fuck me,” Harry whispers. “I want it just a little rough, a little out of control, yeah? Want it hard. Want to be on my stomach.”  
  
Zayn nods harshly, entranced.  
  
“Want my ankles crossed, your legs on either side of me. Get good leverage, Zayn. Really plant your knees,” Harry directs him, like how he used to direct everyone around him as a child. He was always so sure of himself then. He should remember to do it more often, to write it down.  
  
“I can do that,” Zayn nods again, licking his lips.  
  
“Want to come without you touching me.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“But when you’re ready, I want it on my face. I want to see you. I want to watch it.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Me first. Then you.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“And we won’t talk about anything else, nothing heavy or serious or grown-up, until tomorrow.”  
  
Zayn nods a final time and surges forward again, their teeth knocking together. Harry’s fingers dig into Zayn’s hands still on his cheeks, ready now, so hard he’s leaking all over them both.  
  
They don’t waste much more time, too overcome with need and want. Harry breathes into the mattress a few seconds later, when Zayn flips him over and pulls his ass apart. It’s like a fucking dream, Zayn’s tongue against his rim, pulling, biting, stretching. Zayn mumbles into it, sweet things about missing Harry, missing their stupid nights in Harry’s kitchen, the way Harry looked on that movie set.  
  
Harry claws at the bedspread, the cobalt blue one that reminds him of all the prettiest oceans, as he cries out. It’s so fucking good, too good, he hasn’t had it so long. He won’t last. Zayn finds lube and condoms somewhere, Harry can’t raise his head up to wonder. He shoves two fingers inside Harry, quirks them before Harry can ask, works him open before Harry can breathe right.  
  
Zayn’s hands spread across his hips only a minute later, knees on either side of Harry’s thighs, the head of his cock bumping against Harry’s rim. He fucks Harry hard, punching the air from their lungs with each thrust. Eventually he grips Harry’s ass in each hand, a little too hard, Harry’s skin searing from it. But it’s a good rough, a good out of control.  
  
It goes exactly as Harry requested, in the correct order, every instruction followed. Just hard enough, just a tad over the edge, Harry coming against the cobalt fabric, his eyes slammed shut from the force of it. It’s just how Harry envisioned, their first time, because Zayn’s good at instructions, about as good as he is with advice.  
  
When he finally grabs at Harry to turn over and comes across Harry’s open mouth, it’s just as good as Harry hoped it would be.  
  
Beautiful.

  
  
***

  
Harry feeds Zayn a piece of orange a few hours later, wearing each others' t-shirts on Harry's kitchen floor, when they both finally succumbed to their hunger. They lean against the counters, feet tangled. Zayn probably hates it, since he has such a process when it comes to eating, but he smiles as the juice drips down Harry's wrist. He grabs for it, to lick it away. Harry never knew he wanted someone to kiss and lick every appendage of his, until right then, with Zayn's mouth lingering on his ankles from before.  
  
It's quiet along the beach, the wind howling through the trees, right into the kitchen to settle with them. Zayn bites at the last bit of orange in Harry's hand, juice running down his chin. Harry licks it away to return the favor.  
  
Zayn yawns first, exhausted, his head falling to Harry's shoulder eventually. Harry should get him to bed, tuck him in, under the nice sheets he ordered, beneath the skylight. Maybe he'll take a few minutes to reflect and write before he crawls in alongside him.  
  
"I missed you," Zayn pulls Harry out of his head, fingers along his forearm. They promised not to get heavy or look ahead too far, not tonight, and Harry's glad to stick to that plan for now.  
  
"I missed you too," Harry smiles to himself.  
  
"Has it been nice? Spending this time alone and away?"  
  
"It's been good for me. I needed to stop being me for a while, if that makes sense. I needed to remember who I am behind closed doors, when no one's watching."  
  
"That's good," Zayn says around another yawn.  
  
"How has work been? And your family?" Harry scratches at Zayn's thigh lightly.  
  
"Family’s good. And… I made another sale," Zayn offers like it's nothing big, even though Harry knew that already, having read the blurb about it in Business Insider. Zayn made a huge sale, a massive one that could take care of him until he's into his eighties. Harry was so proud, he almost called to say so, just because.  
  
"I'm proud of you."  
  
"Well I'm proud of you," Zayn leans up to kiss Harry's chin. "I always said you never gave yourself enough credit, for the things you can control and are good at."  
  
"You made me want to be better from day one, babe."  
  
"Good."  
  
"And when I go home, I got it now. I've got this, you know?" Harry nods, sure of himself. "I know what I want. I want to work and be successful, I want to be known for the roles I fucking nail. I want an award. I want Seth to get a bonus. Preston, too."  
  
Zayn grabs his hand to link their fingers together, their skin sticky from the fresh fruit. Harry doesn't seem to mind, even as Zayn flexes his fingers to rid the sensation. It shouldn't make Harry laugh, but it does.  
  
"I'm glad you're coming back home," Zayn sighs. Harry almost cries, he can feel the tug behind his eyeballs, that jolt of emotion and adrenaline that says he should. He’s made his plans to go home, and Zayn wants him there. It’s honestly the most assuring thing Harry’s ever heard.  
  
"Me too."  
  
Zayn falls asleep right there on the kitchen floor, his feet curled around Harry's leg. Harry, stronger than he's ever been, lifts him up and carries him up to bed.

  
  
***

  
Ummmmm I just saw Harry Styles at the airport. I SWEAR to god he just walked past me in the United terminal in Dallas....  
_\- nasim i can (@nsmican) 8:03 am – April 14, 2018_  
  
omg i'm sitting next to harry styles and that guy he dated for awhile, they're on my flight from dallas to lax. they're KISSING.  
_\- Zoe Gorman (@midsummerdreamxx) 9:16 am – April 14, 2018_  
  
@kkholder12 your future hubby at LAX right now. (she was obsessed with the guy who dated harry styles last year, forget his name) HE IS HERE  
_\- kyle mcdougal so wha (@rhiandiwill) 9:58 am – April 14, 2018_

  
  
***

  
It wasn't exactly hard to miss, once strangers started to notice.  
  
Zayn nudged Harry as they stood inside Hudson News in their connecting city in Texas, with magazines and water bottles shared between them. A girl behind them in line genuinely hyperventilated, at the sight of Harry Styles. A young high school boy near the dirty magazines couldn't stop staring, his jaw practically to his knees, his eyes bouncing back and forth from Harry Styles to that guy everyone admired on trashy news shows last summer. The "model-type" boyfriend of that crazy actor, they said.  
  
It was the same on their second flight, with much more young kids than the initial flight out of Florida. A woman in front of them turned entirely around in her seat, to give them each a wide smile. Teens all around them began frantically typing, either to their friends, or onto social media for the world to see.  
  
They were ready for it, after their long talk the day before. They decided, without even really saying so, that it was what they wanted. They kissed and wordlessly knew what it meant: they wanted to try again, to be adults with their heads on straight, ready for the media, but completely removed from it.  
  
People are free to talk, tweet, analyze, and speculate. Harry was right before, and it'll be even more prevalent the second time around: inevitably, a narrative will be spun, a story sold, touches dissected and talked about. Harry Styles will never not be Harry Styles, he's a tried and true actor whether he likes it or not, and the world wants to see his face.  
  
So when they walk through the airport, they don't hold hands. But they laugh at jokes and rib each other for fun. Zayn tucks Harry's hair behind his ear before takeoff, Harry orders their coffee together, they watch a move on Zayn's laptop with shared headphones.  
  
When a girl asks for Harry's picture before they deplane, her fingers in her mouth from nervousness, Harry politely nods with a smile. Her mother takes the picture, her face just as red as the girl's, and Zayn watches from the side. Harry whispers to her, asking with true sincerity, if she'll wait to post it until she's home in a few hours. She nods and gives him a huge hug.  
  
One camera waits for them outside, some cameraman who either had LAX as his daily assignment, or someone online alerted him. Either way, he peppers them with questions, tries to get them to speak, wishes them well. They don't take the bait, just walk past him towards the line of cars outside the terminal.  
  
The most interesting thing the guy captures through his lens is Harry Styles hugging some black haired guy in a Mercedes, some agent or manager type. The guy smooths Harry's hair a little, only twice, and claps him on the back like a father would.  
  
It’s picked up everywhere, the return of Harry Styles, the beautiful man he’s seen getting into a strange car with, their matching smiles as bright as New York City after dark.  
  
They say he’s back and better than ever. It’s nice.

  
  
***

  
They have brunch far, far away from Seth's usual Santa Monica spot. He was the one to suggest it, somewhere untrendy and boring, the type of place someone can go to purposefully not be seen. Harry's done with the game, where he actively tries to get spotted for various reasons. He doesn't need the validation anymore, and he certainly doesn't need the headache it gives Zayn.  
  
Seth talks their ears off as he drives them towards North Hollywood, a valley spot he swears was good. Seth rarely ventures into the valley if he can help it, so Harry claps his arm and thanks him with a wink.  
  
Once they're settled at the table on the darkened patio connected to EAT, Seth can't help but beam.  
  
"This is good," Seth nods to each of them. "I've missed you, H. And it's really nice to meet you in person, Zayn. It's really good."  
  
"You too, of course," Zayn smiles. "We had a few emails back then, after I donated the money."  
  
"That we did."  
  
"And Harry always said how you took care of him, so... that was decent of you. Especially after – "  
  
Zayn catches himself, the expression on his face falling, not sure if it’s okay to bring it up. But Harry grabs his hand under the table, his sunglasses hiding the swift brush of emotion that suddenly overtakes him. He doesn't regret telling Zayn about his parents or the damage they did, in a number of ways, but he forgets sometimes how angry Zayn can get whenever he thinks it through again. Harry's pretty sure Zayn has been researching various ways to sue or get comeuppance on the Styles, and he appreciates the gesture.  
  
"It's okay," Harry nods. "We can all talk about it. It's fine."  
  
"They're assholes, huh," Seth sighs to Zayn, recognizing someone on his side.  
  
"Such assholes!" Zayn belts, leaning towards Seth. "Can we at least go key their cars? Or like slash their tires?"  
  
"Just so long as we don't drive anywhere far, so long as we fly up there, I'm in," Seth cheers his water glass.  
  
It shouldn't be funny, or in any way lighthearted, to discuss his parents this way. And yet Harry can't help but laugh as the two men before him think of new ways to screw with the people who screwed with him. Harry holds Zayn's hand tighter, his foot knocking into Zayn's because he likes the feel of him everywhere.  
  
Harry explains to Seth again, in person, how he wants to handle anything media related in the future. He'll do interviews, he can still charm the pants off anyone, but he won't talk about Zayn. He's proud of Zayn, of who they are, but it's just theirs. People can take pictures of Harry, with Harry, but not with Zayn or them together. No invasive questions, no ostentatious outings, no calls to paparazzi. After the cheating scandal, and subsequent backlash against the media outlets that made up the story, people seem intrigued by Harry again. There were small articles here and there, wondering where he went, if he was happy, if he was coming back. So now, Harry plans to keep that momentum going, to be positive, to put that good energy back into the world as he does the movie press tour. He understands that press is part of the job, contractually even, and that his life will always be interesting and glamorous to others. But his relationship doesn’t belong to anyone else.  
  
Zayn nods along in all the right places, agreeing that he doesn't want Harry's life, he never has. He'll be apart of it, working and living the way he sees fit, with Harry by his side. They've agreed to be together again, officially, so long as Harry promises to keep their private lives private, and they both keep everything between them off social media and the Internet.  
  
Seth understands, of course.  
  
"I told you," Seth smiles, his eye twitch more apparent after Harry not seeing him for so long, "that I'm always on your side, H. No matter what."  
  
“Thank you,” Harry nods.  
  
“And I swear, we’re not like, overly self involved and think the world is going to care forever, because they probably won’t. But if they do, if they ask, even if they write about us, we just don’t want to give a shit over what anyone says. We want to control what we can,” Zayn says seriously, the true businessman he is coming out, to make their point crystal clear.  
  
“I got you, H,” Seth nods to Harry, before turning a kind eye to Zayn. “And I got you now too, I suppose.”  
  
Harry almost gets up to cross the table, to smack a wet kiss to his cheek, when Preston arrives and the thought is long forgotten. Preston picks Harry up off the ground entirely and almost cracks one of his ribs, Harry’s sure of it.

  
  
***

  
**7 Totally Random Questions with Harry Styles PART 2**  
_Posted May 1, 2018_  
_Tim Mason, BuzzFeed Staff_  
  
Exactly one year ago, I sat with Harry Styles in his posh Beverly Hills kitchen and shot the shit. We asked each other a long list of weird and random questions, becoming fast friends. This time around, we ate about three pounds of chocolate in his small condo closer to the beach, moving boxes toppling over in every corner.  
  
Harry, 23 spent almost nine months in an undisclosed location far away from California to clear his head. He infamously had, in his words, a mild meltdown while filming the upcoming “Repulsive Individuals,” so he thought it best to get away for an extended time out. Wherever he went, it sure served him well. He seems healthier and as gracious as ever.  
  
Here are seven more stupid questions featuring my favorite guy:  
  
**1\. What does George Clooney smell like?**  
Pure, unadulterated man musk. He smells like a man. All man. No, really. He smells very nice. He must shower quite consistently.  
  
**2\. Can you give us a hint to the plot of “Repulsive Individuals?” Are you really Clooney’s son?**  
If I told you anything beyond what they’ve released about the movie, I’d be murdered in my sleep. It’s about certain high-power men in a certain real estate business. I play Andrew. If he were a real person, I would love him like a brother.  
  
**3\. Have you ever almost gotten in trouble with the law? Be honest.**  
See, that’s what some people forget about me. I’ve never been arrested! Certain media outlets tried to paint me as this crack head with no regard for the law, and yet I’ve never been in trouble a day in my life! That said… the next time you see Louis Tomlinson, ask him about the Sharpie Incident. That’s all I will say. [Harry makes sure to tell me about the upcoming drama Louis Tomlinson is starring in, on Showtime. Apparently Harry is throwing a premiere party and I’m invited. WHAT?]  
  
**4\. Favorite word.**  
“Schlong” because it rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? Oh, or “orange.”  
  
**5\. Least favorite word.**  
“Retarded” as an insult or adjective.  
  
**6\. Kind of the opposite of one of our more popular questions last time… what is one thing that many people love that you can’t stand?**  
I don’t like synchronized dances. The YMCA dance makes my head hurt. Don’t give me instructions, sir. I don’t want to do your Macarena. I’d rather everyone get on a dance floor and dance to their own rhythm.  
  
**7\. You said this time last year that you wanted to find someone. Without giving too many details, and without me sounding like an intrusive asshole, do you think you’ve accomplished that goal?**  
Well Tim, I cannot complain these days. As you can see, I’ve got a new place, a new outlook, a real purpose. People seem to understand me better now. I have some great friends around me. As cheesy as it sounds, regardless of who may or may not be living with me as of this week, I found myself. I’m a very happy man.  
  
We end our now-annual interview with a big hug and a promise to hang out soon. Harry really does insist that I come over for his party honoring his friend Louis Tomlinson, and since I can’t tell a lie, I jumped for joy.  
  
Also, I can’t leave this out, sorry… but Zayn Malik is so unnervingly attractive in person, my future children felt his stare when he walked through the front door.  
  
[“Repulsive Individuals” is in theaters worldwide May 27th. Click  here for times and tickets.]

  
  
***

  
**WATCH HERE: The “Repulsive Individuals” Reviews Are In | Deadline**  
_By Janet Dodd – May 24, 2018 – 6:14 pm_  
  
Easily the most anticipated movie to be released so far in 2018, “Repulsive Individuals” is finally upon us. So just in time for the summer blockbuster season, we have a slow-burn thriller masked as a drama. As I say in my video review  HERE, there’s no question this movie will be a huge hit. There are a few surprises that I won’t spoil, but you can see from the Entertainment Weekly review and the Rotten Tomatoes score (currently sitting at 94% Fresh) that viewers will be pleased with the story.  
  
Director Stephen Soderbergh brings style and top filmmaking skills to the film, which stars George Clooney and Harry Styles, both on track to be Oscar nominated in 2019 for their spectacular performances. Co-stars include Michael Pena, Margot Robbie, Siddhanta Miah, and Raymond Gilliam.

  
  
***

  
**From:** H Edward,  <hedward@me.com>  
**To:** Anne Styles,  <Anne.Styles@gmail.com>  
  
**Subject:** RE: Please can you answer?  
May 25, 2018 – 5:06 PM PST  
  
Mom and dad –  
  
It’s been a long time since I ever considered responding to you, a long time since I ever wanted to. But I’m in the car at the moment, on the way to my movie premiere, and it got me thinking…  
  
You sent me an email months ago, last year while I was trying to focus and work on a huge project. And as I’m sure you saw, I didn’t handle it very well. Did you mean for that to happen? Was I supposed to cry and fall down? Did you hope to rescue me? Or did you just watch the fallout on the nightly news? These are questions I’ve asked myself over and over since then, and with every passing day, I get farther and farther from needing concrete answers.  
  
I’ve learned to get up on my own now, when something makes me fall down. I’ve learned that it’s okay to cry, so long as it doesn’t affect other people. I’ve learned to pick up my broken pieces and superglue them back together. It’s not something you ever taught me, don’t get the wrong idea. I have a new family, people who helped me see that I can fix myself. I have. And I’m pretty great, if I do say so. I like who I am. It’s a refreshing feeling. I would tell you to try it, but I’m sure you’re both quite happy and content these days.  
  
I just ask that you stop contacting me. I don’t hold lingering anger or resentment, I don’t waste my nights thinking it over, or wonder why I wasn’t good enough. I don’t blame myself for the choices you made. But I also haven’t forgotten. I haven’t dumbed myself down enough to let you back in, because we all know what would happen if I did. It wouldn’t be good for me, not in the long run. You’re not good people. And since I’m a good person, who loves other good people, it’s just not in the cards for us.  
  
And since I know you’ll wonder, I have not contacted the lawyers. You’re still safe and untouched. Please don’t take my complacency for kindness. If you keep emailing me, I’ll have to tell them. It was part of the deal.  
  
I have to go, the car has pulled up to the theater and they’re asking for me. My boyfriend is beautiful, my life is beautiful, and sometimes I look at my maps around my house and think of how you used to be. Maybe that can comfort you? I don’t know. I’m rambling. I still do that, don’t I.  
  
Just know, even through all of it, I wish you well.  
  
Best,  
Harry

  
  
***

  
We have all your premiere scoop from George Clooney’s big night! And you’ll never guess who we spotted kissing as the lights went down!  
_\- EXTRA (@extratvdotcom) 7:45 pm – May 25, 2018_  
  
Harry Styles and Zayn Malik walked the red carpet fast, no press interviews, but they’re clearly HOT and HEAVY.  pic.twitter.com/1273890  
_\- LAT Entertainment (@latimesent) 8:00 pm – May 25, 2018_  
  
This was a gorgeous night. Had a blast with everyone at the premiere. I love you a lot, anyone reading this. Harry xx  
_\- Harry Styles. (@Harry_Styles) 11:34 pm – May 25, 2018_

  
  
***

  
They resolved to be private, and they are. They decided to keep everything guarded, and they do.

Harry Styles is, in fact, nominated for an Oscar for his work in his comeback role. George Clooney is also nominated, but it’s not as much of a Cinderella story, so the press aren't as excited about it.  
  
Zayn Malik and his team design an app that is geared towards college kids, to send photos and videos to large groups, as well a seamless way to post them to a brand new networking/dating site. Google buys it in under a year’s time.  
  
They live a very happy, content life. They donate to animal charities, they adopt a dog and a cat because they can’t decide on which, and they buy a house in Zurich just because.  
  
Harry is the godfather to Preston’s first baby. And Louis’s, for that matter. They spoil both kids rotten. They send Mr. Hubbard new records every few months. Zayn’s youngest sister gives the commencement speech at her Harvard graduation, something that sends Zayn completely over the edge. He cries into Harry’s sweater that day.  
  
It’s a great life, full of love and happiness.  
  
And that’s all you get of it.  
  
Because when they vowed to keep all the best things close, they did.

  
  
***

  
**Grammys: Elisa Chaney tops highlights on big music night**  
_By Shane Lane, Detroit Free Press Pop Music Writer_  
_Posted February 4, 2050_  
  
It was a triumphant Grammy debut for 19-year-old Elisa Chaney, the pop-soul singer who seemed overwhelmed by an occasion she called “the most amazing night I’ve ever had.”  
  
Chaney’s synthesized pop album steered her to a four-trophy victory Sunday, a fitting musical template for a show dominated by upbeat jam sessions and powerhouse performances. It truly was a year of fun, unabashed pop.  
  
She grabbed three of the night’s top wins – record of the year, song of the year, and best new artist – while ceding only album of the year to The Band Divided. She also snagged best pop vocal album for “Pretend Cravings.”  
  
“I am so proud of this album. I can’t wait to show my family. My mom wanted to come with me, but she had to work,” she adorably told the press room immediately after the ceremony, Grammy statues in hand.  
   
She also brought up her producing team, the two-some blowing up the music scene: Turner Styles-Malik and JoJo Howe.  
  
“We’re very happy,” Turner smiled to the press room. “We’re very honored to share this honor with Elisa.”  
  
Turner, 25 the son of two-time Oscar winner Harry Styles and philanthropist Zayn Malik, has been quietly working his way through the Hollywood music scene, writing tracks for everyone from Elisa Chaney to country artists like Mayella Skye. When asked if his parents were on hand to see him win his first Grammy, he laughed and said they were watching at home with his younger sister.  
  
JoJo Howe, 24 is a new find, a friend of Turner’s from college, who is described as a musical genius, akin to Bruno Mars in his heyday. He was also asked if he had family at the ceremony to see his first Grammy win. Apparently his mom almost rushed the stage when he and Turner joined Chaney to accept record of the year.  
  
For more photos of the unstoppable threesome, click  here. We also have an exclusive interview with Elisa Chaney tomorrow, to see when we can expect her follow up.  
  
For more information on the upcoming collaborations produced by Turner Styles-Malik and JoJo Howe, visit their website.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**THE END**

  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it.
> 
> G


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